Firebird Rising
by jenskott
Summary: Jean Grey is dead. Will Phoenix be able to rise from the ashes again? What will happen if she does it? My own version of the new 'Phoenix Endsong' series.
1. Part One Remembrances and Premonitions

------------------------------ 

Firebird Rising

Author: Jenskott

Summary: Jean Grey is dead. Will Phoenix be able to rise from the ashes again? What will happen if she does it? My own version of the new 'Phoenix Endsong' series.  
Notes: This story emerged during a conversation in a forum about the future 'Phoenix Endsong' series. After listening many -mostly negative- predictions and opinions, I came up with a possible plot. Several members liked the draft and encouraged me to develop it in a fic.  
I'd like to recommend the Scott/Jean forum ) to all Scott/Jean fans that read this story.  
Rating: PG.  
Disclaimer: Marvel owns the books. Stan Lee and Jack Kirby are their true parents.  
Feedback: To Please, I need reviews! English isn't my primary language, so I need much advice.

------------------------------

Part One. Remembrances and Premonitions-

_Scott_

He blushed. She stood in front of him, dressed with a handsome dark dress and wearing a beret restrained her rich red hair. He couldn't stop ogling to that hair. She was the prettiest girl he had known ever. And spunky too. He chuckled inwardly seeing Hank performing an unscheduled aerial spin after his clumsy attempt on hinting on her.

Nevertheless he groaned. That gorgeous girl had just arrived to the mansion and the only thought crossed his schoolmates' minds -those untamed beasts he got for best friends- was getting in her pants.

Their duty was making her feel welcome. He grabbed a chair and motioned it forward, offering her. Then she shocked him out of his wits when the seat slid towards her automatically.

He gawked, utterly stunned. She smirked and fluttered her eyelashes innocently. He smiled back. He had been very fidgety but she had eased his nerves with a simple gesture.

The landscape blurred. They were now outdoors. She was more mature, her beauty more refined. A long white dress embraced her ravishing figure. The steady drum of wedding bells surrounded them.

"I do." She said with a perky smile. The sunrays weren't brighter than the infinite happiness dawned on her face. If he wasn't already head over hells in love with her, he had fallen right then. Unable of repressing himself longer, he kissed her deeply as the priest proclaimed their marriage and the X-Men cheered.

The world shifted again. The mansion was crumbled, demolished in blackened and smoking ruins. The X-men were badly wounded, injured by someone who they believed a friend and turned out to be their worst and oldest foe. And she was dying on her arms. Her face smeared with dark blood. Her body limp.

"Scott... My best friend..." She wheezed out. "All I've ever done is die on you."

She coughed, spitting a spray of blood. And then her body burst in blazes. Burning, hot-melting fire blossomed around him, charring her flesh to ashes as he screamed. He cried and sobbed as his arms held clumsily the remnants of her corpse in denial. Heartache impaled his chest, shredding it in bleeding chunks and spread its tendrils through his body, tearing him apart. While he collapsed over the singed land, he wished the ravenous and high flames circling him claimed also his soul.

But it didn't happen. The circular wall of tall flames remained around him as a glowing orange ring. The cracking tongues of fire coiled in front of him, drawing a face. He gulped.

"Scott... Help me..." She whispered.

With an appalling scream, Scott Summers lurched onwards on his bed, tossing backwards the quilt wrapped his body. For several heartbeats he remained bent over the covers, calming his frantic breathing. Cold sweat drenched his forehead, and he wiped it with one hand. His skin felt clammy and sticky.

Slowly he regarded his surroundings. Pitch, deep shadows shrouded him, but he recognized their- his room. Jean didn't sleep in it since months ago.

The ebony blackness was comforting and welcome after his dream. A dream devolved in an awful nightmare and haunted him night after night. And it ended always with the same scene. Last Jean's death.

He shivered and lay down again, basking in the pillow's softness. Deafening silence was everywhere, including in his head. The rapport tied his mind with Jean's had wilted long ago. He let it go and now he felt hollow and crippled. He missed her terribly, not matter what his friends believed.

Though, a faint voice resounded in the rear of his skull, as a persistent thread. Help me.

------------------------------

_Rachel_

Rachel gasped in amazement. Soldiers weren't bombing the mansion. Acab wasn't experimenting with her to cloud and submit her will to his wishes. She wasn't locked in a camp, with her hair cropped, her face branded with the Hound tattoo and her body dressed in filthy, green overalls. Sentinels weren't murdering Logan, Ororo, Peter and finally Kate.

She had been suffering nightmares from her past since his friends rescued her. She had been slaved and used to hurt people like a mindless puppet. Again. It was nearly more than her sanity could bear.

But now she was strolling along a tall plateau. The sun was dying Westwards and dyeing the skies with its blood. An unfamiliar peacefulness stroked her and soothed her heart.

Then she saw them. Her pare- Scott and Jean. They were sitting on a blanket, beside a picnic basket. Scott was clad in his dark blue costume, but Jean dressed a very skimpy yellow bikini. Both of them smiled nervously. Unwillingly she listened to their conversation.

"You're brooding."

"It's what I do best. I've got a lot on my mind."

"Didn't you hear me? It's time for a break! Stop being Cyclops, leader of the X-men, for a while. Try being Scott Summers, lover of Jean Grey. Who knows... You might even enjoy yourself."

Her last words were a husky purr. Playfully she reached for his visor and began to take it off, drawing backwards his skullcap and releasing his short chocolate locks.

"Jean, no! What are you doing? Put my visor down! If I open my eyes even fractionally without the visor's ruby quartz shield to contain my optic blasts..." He stammered, stricken by a frantic panic.

"Open you eyes, Scott. Nothing will happen. I'm telekinetically keeping your optic blasts in check. I...wanted to see your face, that's all."

She gazed longingly at his roughened features. Scott kept mute, speechless, wondering...

"Hush, no questions now my love. No words, this is our moment, let's not waste it." She whispered.

Jean brought Scott down upon the blanket for a kiss and he kissed back, drawing her in a crushing embrace. Both rolled over the sheet.

Rachel chose that moment to turn around briskly. An intense blush was spread over her fair skin and dotted her cheeks with a cherry red. As she ignored the gasps and moans and the muffled noise of bodies grinding at each other, she wondered why she was witnessing this scene.

A flash of realization came to her mind. She was witnessing her conception. But the first question stood. Why was she dreaming of this?

Of sudden the day turned night and the hills of brownish and jagged rock vanished. The landscape of an ancient and lonely city unfolded around her, as far as her sight reached. The air was still and light, laden with dirt, and a black canvas draped the sky, spotted with billions of dots of milky light. The stars were unfamiliar, but the blue planet hanging on the space wasn't. She was in the Blue Area of the Moon.

Abrupt screams pierced the still air, shattering the solemn silence. She saw Jean running in a crazy sprint, chased by Scott. She noticed her green outfit was darkening in red, and listened to despaired Cyclops' shouts. A powerful shiver assaulted her. Rachel knew what scene was unfolding right now. And she wondered again why she was attending it.

------------------------------

_Ororo_

Tendrils of wind coiled and curled around her, licking her mocha skin in greeting. The air inflated her black cloak and ruffled her ivory strands. The brush of the wind around her body felt as the touch of an old lover. She invoked the elements and they obeyed their mistress' bid, lifting her up and high on the air.

She wasn't called the windrider for nothing.

Though she couldn't enjoy the stroke of the wind and the freedom of the flight. The Earth had been polluted; the air fouled. Above her, black clouds swirled, warning of a brewing tempest, and the air quaked like if an unknown force was pounding on the sky, trying shatter it. Below her, a bewitched city spread. New York had been invaded by demons, and they were warping it in something obscene.

Inferno. The woman known like Storm would never forget that terrible time.

Suddenly Ororo halted her reconnaissance flight, startled of the figure standing in front of her, floating on the atmosphere sullied and saturated with evil.

"I believed you were dead." Ororo stammered in bewildered disbelief.

A smiled quirked Jean's lips. "I DID believe you were dead."

Ororo stifled a laugh. Her expression mimicked Marvel Girl's. "I suppose it's a stalemate then."

Her best friend nodded. "I missed you, Ororo." And then they hugged at each other.

Ororo clutched tightly her friend's body with her arms, fearful of she vanished in smoke and cinders if she released her. However the frame she was holding changed of sudden. Storm stiffened and leaned back, taking another good look at Jean. Her X-Factor costume -bright red crossed diagonally for two golden stripes- had turned into a black leather outfit. And her cheerful expression had mutated in a glum, somber countenance.

"Ororo, I-" Jean mumbled sorrowfully, before bursting abruptly in wild flares. Storm screamed in terror and dove at her, but her fingers only grasped strands of fleeting smoke.

------------------------------

_Bobby_

Ice-Man looked down, checking himself. His body was no longer made of bluish ice. Gone the hard shell of frozen water coating his body, he looked now like any regular bo- No. He'd stopped being a kid long ago, although he had just recently acknowledged that fact.

He looked around. Long rows of wooden shelves surrounded him. His memory acknowledged the setting. He had been in that bookstore years ago, looking for Jean. He had helped her to pick a gift to her nephew and niece and she had encouraged him to overcome his depression. Later the X-Babies had shown up and trashed the helpless shop but it was another story.

Then he saw her. Kneeled on the carpet, with her back leaned on the shelf behind her, as her eyes leafed through a book. She wore a loose flowery sundress and her face was pensive but happy and reassured, with no traces of the excruciating suffering had marred her features during the last months.

He came closer and observed the assorted books gathered in disarray order around her legs. He expected titles like The Sleeping Beauty or The Little Red Riding Hood, but what he read stunned him.

Robert Drake. Henry McCoy. Warren Worthington. Ororo Munroe. Nathan Summers. Jubilation Lee. Remy LeBeau. Allison Blaire.

Started with the revelation, his eyes darted towards the varnished shelves. On the spines of every book figured the name of everyone had ever worn a 'X'. Some of them he knew; others no -who the hell were James Howlett or Marie Raven?-. There even were alternate X-Men.

That place was like a huge library summarizing X-Men's history. Maybe more, since he saw names of members of the Avengers, the Fantastic Four or the Defenders.

Hesitantly, warily, he bent over and his hand drifted towards his biography. Though another title grasped his attention. Jean Grey. He took it out of curiosity and skimmed through it. It was a narration -written like a fairy tale- of Jean's life, since her birth on Annandale-on-Hudson, until...until...

He looked at the drawing of the knight with tarnished armor holding the fire princess in his arms as she perished, and read the caption. It described what had happened when Magneto put in gear his plan. That was obvious. But he was disturbed since it should be the last page. And it wasn't.

"The tale doesn't finish here." He muttered weakly, clearly unsettled.

For first time Jean glanced at him with her bright emerald eyes. "The stories never end, Bobby. They simply go on other places, with other people. The walker can rest, but the road ever goes on."

She shut with finality the book she had been reading. Bobby had time to read 'Scott Summers' before a flame sprouted from her fingers and burnt the volume. Jean, the books, the store lit up with a blinding brightness, and the place was consumed in a massive fireball.

A brusque whirlwind snuffed out the fire hastily, and Bobby was again sunk in complete darkness.

------------------------------

_Warren_

He had lain in the blackness, broken and maimed. Someone who had believed his friend took away his wings. People who had believed his friends let him do it. He had lost his parents, his friends, his love, body pieces, everything. He felt filthy, tattered and helpless. And so he lay, dazed and motionless like a doll too shattered to be of some use.

Then he came, offering him a place, a purpose, a goal. Just like Professor Xavier long ago. And he, stupid and unbelievable fool, had stricken a bargain without knowing the real prize.

He carried out his promise of making him strong. Oh, yes. He gave him power like he hadn't dreamed of. To unleash it against his erstwhile friends.

Warren stared, rueful and ashamed, like Hank dodged his swoops, like Bobby deflected his feather-like darts with an ice shield, like Scott resigned to use drastic measures to take him down, and like Jean refused to believe his old friend hated them now.

Angel lowered his head. He wasn't worthy of her faith on him. He had sold his soul to a devil. Being comatose and drugged at the time didn't excuse the fact. He had allowed Apocalypse turned him into a puppet subject to his orders and whims. An angel in chains. And he had nearly killed his best friends.

The picture rippled like a lake's surface, and the waves formed another scene. Jean and Betsy were fighting at each other, equipped with psychic armors and armed with swords. As he contemplated the dance of steel clashing, Warren pondered the irony of having fallen for the woman had fallen for his first love's boyfriend. He sighed regretfully. Betsy. God, the ache still gnawed his guts.

However much he valued Paige, she wasn't Betsy. She would never be. And sincerely he wasn't sure of they had some future together. Their ages, personalities, backgrounds... were too different.

And maybe it would be better of that way. Jean, Candy, Betsy... He had loved many women, and nearly all were dead. He shook his head.

Both women ceased their spar and looked at him sorrowfully. Betsy seemed about of saying something when the redhead faced him. Her usually sparkling eyes were dulled with sadness and compassion.

"Don't spout nonsense, Warren. How can you believe that?" She stated. Her voice sounded low, dangerous.

Tongues of flames welled up from the soil, enfolding her in a pyre. And she faded.

------------------------------

_Hank_

Henry P. McCoy was living one of those rare moments where his puzzlement rendered him speechless. He had been wading through an indigestion-induced dream when a bright golden flare had erased the surrealistic, nightmarish vision.

When the brightness winked off, he was sat in a table in the mansion's kitchen. His four schoolmates were ensconced around the furniture, and the board was strewn with books and notebooks, pens and erasers, snacks and drinks. He could almost believe it was a glimpse of their study seasons -which used to end in open warfare across the table-. But it couldn't be a remembrance, since he resembled a bipedal blue lion.

Jean was the only who wasn't currently snoring onto the table. His redhead friend was leaned over her own textbook, underlining carefully a paragraph. As she dropped her pen and caught her eraser, she talked without tearing her eyes away from the text.

"I've been thinking of something, Hank. I don't remember have ever apologized with you..." She mumbled.

"What... do you mean?" He voiced cautiously.

Jean blew the eraser's scraps with a gust of breath and lifted her pretty head. Her eyes connected, and Hank realized she was serious about whatever was bothering her. "You remember what happened when we defeated Factor Three and began wearing new costumes, don't you?"

He nodded. The Professor turned grimmer, more stern, more withdrawn. He displayed a harshness they had never known or expected from him. They figured some trouble was upsetting him, but he'd only share his secret with Jean. And she followed his strict orders, even though it forced her to behave with callous coldness or bicker against her own teammates.

They couldn't know a sickness was killing the Professor slowly, and he was unlocking Jean's telepathy and training the team to survive after his death. Or so he told them after he sacrificed himself to stop Grotesk, last survivor of a subterranean race.

They forgave him, mourned his passing, went on their lives. And months later he resurfaced, alive and unscathed. It had been a lie. The Professor explained it had been necessary. No, it had been cruel.

During his reminiscence, Jean had been perusing the shift of his features as her hand stroked Scott's hair. She gave him a loving gaze as her fingers threaded -softly to not wake up him- his wavy locks. "Back then I was seriously worried about the Professor, and my reemerging telepathy got on my nerves. That was the reason of my rude and cranky behavior. And I've never apologized for it or for keeping secrets from you. I felt very guilty but I played along only because the Professor explained me his reasons and I trusted him. I'm so sorry, Hank."

His eyes drifted downwards. He wished she hadn't brought up that memento. It was water under the bridge now, and its recollection brought more pain than elation. Though he couldn't deny what he felt slightly more comforted now.

Verdant Jean's eyes bored in him with a piercing, keen gaze, and she took gingerly his flurry claws. He was grateful of her kind, reassuring touch, but her serious stare troubled him. "However I'm very angry with you, Hank. You've always lived with your mutation better than anyone that I've known, including me. Now you mope the whole time like if your mind and your skill don't count to define you like person. Why the hell are you making this to yourself, Hank?"

He broke the visual contact. "Trish left me..." He stammered. Downcast.

Jean sputtered and threw up her arms. "Is that a bad thing? Do you remember our We Hate Opal Tanaka Club? Or the We Hate Candy Southern Society? Or the We Hate Ted Roberts Alliance I wasn't supposed to know about? Bobby was president of the We Hate Trish Tilby Club. We planned throwing a party when you wised up and left her!"

Hank blinked. The news didn't surprise him. Still...

Jean let go his hands abruptly. "I have another matter to talk you about." She snapped her fingers and embers flew from her hand. A figure flashed on the flame. Tall, bulky, raven-haired, his eyes covered with dark shades. Hank recognized him immediately.

"Simon Willians, Wonder Man." He mumbled wistfully. He had been his best friend in the Avengers. "Why are you showing him to me?"

"I think" She retorted " that he was supposedly dead for a while. Buried alive by his partners. They believed the ionic energy had bathed his cells had killed him, but in reality his body was changing. Metamorphosing."

He nodded. "So?"

"Think about it." Jean replied. Without further words she sat up and left the kitchen quietly.

Slowly the dream world dissolved in darkness.

------------------------------

_Logan_

Glittering moonlight shone on the nocturnal sky, illuminating the woodland with a dim silvery light. Throughout the forest sounded the noises of the nocturnal wildlife stirring. A strong odor of humidity, mildew and rotten wood pervaded the air and ascended upwards. A soft wind hissed and howled while it rustled trees' branches.

Logan was aware of everything and each thing at once as he trekked quietly along the thick and old jungle surrounding the mansion, slipping between huge trunks of beeches and stepping among the shrubs, lichens and pools of oozing slime. He beloved that place.

Then he met an unexpected presence, huddled in a gap between two oaks. A thin beam of ivory light stroked her silhouette, playing with her red hair and her jet-black clothes. Yet he didn't need the pale brightness to see her body rocked by shuddering, wrecking sobs either to hear her hushed whimpers.

Quietly to not disrupt her private grieving, he came closer, treading gingerly to mask his footsteps. When he was so near that he could count the lanky strands of her head, he coughed.

Her weeping ceased abruptly.

"Hi, darling." He blurted conversationally. Silence answered him. "I was around -a pretty night for a walk, don't you think?- when I listened to you. Dumb chance, I wasn't spying on you." He added hastily. More silence. He started doubting she was even listening. "Look, Jeannie, I know your life is none of my business. But if you feel really so bad maybe you should talk with someone."

Another silence began. But right when he thought she wouldn't speak to him, her voice -hoarse, cracked, eerie- startled him. "Do you really want finding out about what is unsettling me?"

Logan cursed inwardly. She could read him as an open book, like always. When he said 'someone' he was really thinking about himself. "Only if it helps you, darling. Why are you crying?"

Her voice had sounded brittle but now it was tough as steel. And her next words sliced him as a knife. "You."

His eyes widened. His mouth opened, but he was barely capable of stammering. "Me? What have or haven't I done, Red?"

She stood up with a leap and whirled around. "Look at yourself!" She roared with a glare.

Logan stood transfixed by that ferociousness. Slowly, almost painfully, he lowered his eyes and took notice of his clothes. His heart forgot thumping for several heartbeats. He was draped with the robes of Death, Horseman of Apocalypse.

An unseen force snatched him and he was suddenly airborne. He was no longer in the midst of the forest, but in a barren wasteland. She was clad in her green-and-golden Phoenix costume, and one of her hands was raised to eye level. A wind flapped her long mane, and if the moonshine highlighted the red-blood hue of her strands, the daylight enhanced her bright copper color.

"You" She accused, absolutely furious "accepted willingly being a Horseman, knowing where you were getting into, what he'd do to you. You sold your soul to that devil -out of naiveté; still you did it- and aided him to gather the Twelve, even protecting him from Nathan. You collaborated in the shit took my husband away me!"

He hadn't taken that from anyone else. But coming from her, each word was a stab.

"You helped him, and Scott sacrificed himself to stop him." She spat hoarsely. "And he and I have been suffering since then. I've been so badly hurt thanks to you, Logan." Jean muttered. Her glaring eyes narrowed with a sudden suspect and she came several steps closer him. Her hand grabbed roughly his scarf and pulled him in her. Inches separated their noses, but it wasn't erotic.

Her scent exuded fury and resentment. She was barely restraining her temper, and he knew one wrong word would set off the volcano.

"One thought has just occurred to me." She hissed, grinding together her jaws. "Were you glad when I became a grieving widow?"

He blinked, aghast. "What? Of course not, Jeannie. I-"

"Sure you did! Maybe not in a conscious level, but one part of you was delighted I was available again!" She shouted. Though it was a raspy cry instead of a choleric yell. Bottomless sorrow was overwhelming her again. "For that you kissed me!"

She paused to let out a strangled, choked sob, and dried the tears trickling from her eyes. "How could you?" She sniffed. "You knew I was going through troubles and it'd only exacerbate them further. You knew I was married and I'd feel awfully guilty. And still you kissed me! You took advantage from me when I was weak and vulnerable. My God. Never I thought you could sink so low. Y-you were my friend and you betrayed me. You betrayed my trust."

"Please, Jeannie, listen to me. It wasn't like that-" He started talking, deeply hurt, but she cut him off.

"And it isn't only that! You've tried killing Nathan -I don't know how many times-, you tried killing Rachel -You stabbed her heart and lungs with your claws!-, you menaced Nate Grey at least once... The offspring of Scott and mine's loins is so revolting to you?" She cried. Her right hand clung to her chest amidst strong shudders, and her bosom heaved with an unsteady sob, but she caught it and shut it down.

"Jeannie, I'm so-" He whispered. He didn't want letting her like this.

"It's too late to regrets, Logan." She rebuked darkly. Of sudden she was dressing again leather jacket and pants. Behind her smoked the smoldered ruins of the mansion, reduced to boulders and rubble. "I'm dead."

Barely she had pronounced those terrible words when her eyes glazed over and her skin acquired a hue of sickening, unhealthy yellow. It turned dry and brittle, and a network of spidery cracks fractured it. Her body blackened and dissolved in a pile of ashes in front of a slab. A melancholic breeze dragged them.

Body's Logan jerked on his bed and he bolted onwards before realizing what had happened. His obsidian pupils darted wildly around, regarding the familiar room. He focused and breathed deeply. His pants became gradually shallower and steadier and his maddened heart slowed down its race.

His rough hand rubbed his face and he groaned. Shit, what nightmare. He felt sick, filthy. His head pounded and his stomach churned. That was one of his worst nightmares, right between the Weapon-X tank and Saber-tooth spilling Mariko and Silver Fox's innards over the floor.

He knew the reason of it. Bad dreams were an outlet to the wrenching, maddening guilt dwelling in his chest. He pretended his Horseman stage didn't affect him, but it was a pitiful lie. He hadn't recovered from that ordeal. And he considered himself partially responsible of what had happened to Cyke and Jeannie. He had let them down.

And instead of making up for it, he had wasted his time in exploiting the situation and resuming his pursuit of Jean. He had only made the things harder to them, like that Frost bitch. He had often wanted apologizing to Jean. But he hadn't done it, and she had passed away without knowing it.

The regret was eating him alive. Swallowing him whole. But it was his burden and he ought to carry it alone.

------------------------------

_Emma_

Emma Frost listened to the noises of the battle raging outside, utterly furious. The X-Men had botched her flawless plan to catch the Pryde kid and now they were approaching. Sebastian would be very disappointed. Damn it. But maybe something could be saved from this accursed day.

Spinning around, she glanced at her captive. A disturbing, mocking grin brightened her face. The weather witch had doubtlessly lived through better days. Even in the darkness of the warehouse she could see her head hanging limply, her face bruised and ravaged, and her uniform torn in black tatters. She had endured a strong punishment since her soldiers had shackled her with ropes to the roof and she had pummeled her mind.

Emma lifted her hands to face level and focused her powers. Ivory psychic light boiled and poured from the cup her palms made and a sinister light glowed on her eyes. Although she had already smashed Storm's mind shields she had no time to read her mind. But she could destroy it. When the X-Men arrived, that proud woman would be a hollow, barely-breathing shell.

"Are you sure?"

Emma whirled around, facing the owner of that mocking, crispy voice. Phoenix.

"The only and one." She sneered. A bizarre amber glow gleamed wildly on her eyes. "And you're Emma Frost, White Queen from Hellfire Club's Inner Circle. I've heard you call yourself telepath. Well, Your Highness, let's see how good you really are."

Phoenix smirked gleefully, like the hawk that ate the canary, and Emma got the vague sensation of she was slightly disturbed. All reflection was postponed, though, when the redhead woman soared upwards and struck. Liquid, ethereal blazes bloomed behind her, shaping a raptor, and her arm blasted a wide beam. Emma held back the bolt and retaliated with her own mental blasts, but very soon she understood Phoenix was playing with her. She was a gnat trying perforating a rhino's armor with its sting.

Jean's grin widened savagely, like if her despair was a delightful morsel she was tasting, and her attack increased. A flaming claw closed around her thin frame while a tide of unstoppable power bashed her shields down, crushing them and trampling them with insulting easiness. Emma screeched, feeling a hurricane of fire sweeping her mind and obliterating all it found. Flames flowed in her head and doused her burning body until it was a scorched corpse. The claw squeezed it disdainfully, dissolving it to ashes.

Emma's windpipe released a bloodcurdling scream of excruciating, horrific pain. Then she blinked.

Everything had vanished. Instead of the warehouse she was in her bedroom, lying on her mattress. She wasn't a charcoal-like cadaver but her body was perfectly unscathed. And Jean wasn't in anywhere.

Her eyelids fluttered weakly as she adjusted her vision to her bearings. As the nocturnal cold permeated her nightgown and her skin, she felt really silly for having let that absurd dream disturbed her rest. She had got used to nightmares since she was a child. Why should that dream unsettle her?

Fortunately nobody had heard her scream. Scott wasn't in anywhere. Which was very fortunate, indeed, since she didn't intend explaining her awakening to him.

She didn't intend talking him about that nightmare. Or about the others. It was laughable he though his family was so dysfunctional.

Her eyes observed her lonely, silent, dark room and she felt a sudden suffocation. She admitted grudgingly the last pangs of the nightmare hadn't vanished, and leapt out of the bed.

With an expression of resignation, she opened the bathroom's door and headed for the washbasin. Her hand twisted the tap, letting a stream of water rushed out of the pipe. Emma started to splash her face with abundant water, feeling the wet liquid washing away not only the dirtiness and the bedmarks but also her lingering fears.

As she basked in the freshness of the waterdrops moistening her creamy skin, Emma reflected on her fool and ridiculous dream. Why was she dreaming with Jean? Why precisely with their first meeting and battle? She didn't understand it.

An evil grin split her face. Heh. The mindwitch had to be turning in her grave now Scott was in her bed.

With a satisfied smile she turned around. Her joy faded and she stood frozen.

The room wasn't now an expensive and ample bathroom, well illuminated. It was a massive dome, plunged in midnight shadows. And in front of her stood three figures. Glaring. Accusing. Demanding. They reminded her of the Greek Fates. Or even of Macbeth's three witches.

A teenager Jean Grey, dressed with a green vest and a yellow pointed mask. Infinite disdain glowed on her eyes. An adult Jean Grey-Summers clad in her blue spandex outfit. Fury shimmered on her glare. And an older Jean wearing her leather clothes. And on the gloom shadows bordering her eyes, Emma saw an emotion fully absent of her younger incarnations.

"Guilty." The first one stated with cold contempt.

"Guilty." The second grated with seething rage.

"Guilty." The third one growled with burning hatred.

The trio blurred and merged in one single figure. Dark Phoenix. She approached with a slow, silent stride. Her fists were tightly clenched, and a brutal, ferocious hate marred her gorgeous features and darkened her face with shadows.

Emma willed herself to conceal her dread and apprehension with more contempt and rage and hate, and hardened her body with a crust of diamond. Instantly she dove onwards, arching back a fist with the full intention of ramming it through Jean's skull.

Jean grabbed her fist with a grimace of infinite disdain and stopped her attack with one thought. She tightened her grasp, and her nails scratched the diamond's layer and cut her skin. Emma felt blood leaking out of the wounds but she repressed a yell.

"The fire of the Phoenix burns through lies, you understand? The gaze of the Phoenix is like an x-ray tearing through every self-deception." Jean stated ominously, without the tiniest flicker of emotion. "So... Burn, Emma."

Blistering blazes welled from her hand, enfolding Emma in a bonfire, and she howled in pain. Jean released her arm, letting her kneel on the 'ground', and looked at Emma as she burnt in an unholy pyre.

As the White Queen felt the fire swallowing her and devouring her flesh and bones, she prayed for it was only a dream. And she woke up before her mind, drowned in pain, lost the sanity.

------------------------------

Notes: Scenes are taken from -or based on-: UXM 1, XM 30 and NXM 150; UXM 132 (albeit the theory of Rachel being conceived in that scene comes from What-If Vol.II, issue 33) and UXM 137; UXM 242; XM 46; X-Factor 25 and XM 38; UXM 42, 43 and 65; Astonishing XM 3; and UXM 131 and NXM 139.

The quote Jean uses in Bobby's dream ('the road ever goes on') belongs, of course, to Lord of Rings.

To be continued...


	2. Part Two Advent

------------------------------

Firebird Rising

Author: Jenskott  
Summary: Jean Grey is dead. Will Phoenix be able to rise from the ashes again? What will happen if she does it? My own version of the new 'Phoenix Endsong' series.  
Notes: Thanks you very much for your kind reviews! They encourage me to go on! I want to thank you -specially my forumer buddies- for the appraisement and encouragement: Pinkchick -who gracefully offered to beta read-, Slickboy, Alrischa, Angelechicka, Ultimate X-Men Fan, Summers Groupie, Sailor Phoenix, Phoenix11, Foenixfyre -do you offer stands still?-. Thanks again, and I'm sorry for the delay.

This is the corrected version. Enjoy it!  
I'd like to recommend the Scott/Jean forum ) to all Scott/Jean fans that read this story.  
Rating: PG.  
Disclaimer: Marvel owns the books. Stan Lee and Jack Kirby are their true parents.  
Feedback: To Please, I need reviews! English isn't my primary language, so I need much advice.

------------------------------

Part Two. Advent-

She didn't know if any of this was real.

That realization didn't ease her terrific fear at all.

Tall and thick walls of ebony bricks rose everywhere, extending and twisting in a vast maze that spread endlessly. There wasn't a floor or a roof, ground or sky in that place. Only an unfathomable darkness.

She sprinted crazily, looking desperately for an exit. Her heart thundered in her chest and her lungs were burning, but she didn't stop. She couldn't stop. She didn't dare to stop.

Inwardly her mind was comparing the place with the Labyrinth of Crete. Though she wasn't Theseus; and her hunter was more dangerous than a Minotaur. And she wouldn't sprout Dedalus' wings to fly away. Her only option was going on running until she found the exit or her chaser got fed up with that game.

She turned one corner hurriedly.

Suddenly she was in somewhere else.

Embers. Flames. Blazes. A vision.

Egypt. Merciless Sun pounded with light and heat of the burning dunes and the eroded ruins. Scott Summers and Jean Grey were kneeled on the saffron sand, their son Nathan standing behind them. Jean Grey placed the visor on her husband's face and embraced him, thanking God over and over. The monster was dead and her love was alive. Her world was whole again.

"Jean... Jean..."

"Hush. It's over, Scott. It's over. I have you."

Emma stalked off disgustedly and headed for another corridor.

Embers. Flames. Blazes. A vision.

Alaska. Bright snow of the purest ivory carpeted the world. Scott Summers was leaned on the door of a log cottage as his wife played with the snow. A tiny artificial blizzard shrouded Jean Grey as she spun around joyfully. Suddenly her foot slipped on a rock and she tripped. Before touching the ground, though, her husband was holding her with both arms. An odd, intense emotion shone on his face.

She breathed roughly. Warmth thumped inside her chest. "We may lose this life if we go back."

"You'll never lose me," he promised. A delicate kiss sealed his oath.

Emma moved a few steps backwards and turned around warily.

Embers. Flames. Blazes. A vision.

The mansion. Scott Summers and Jean Grey huddled together on a bed of dry leaves. She lay sideways, clinging tightly to her dear husband. Her hand caressed gingerly the bandages dressing the scar on his chest. Bastion had looted the mansion, captured the X-Men and placed a bomb in Scott's heart. But when all was said and done they had won against all the odds and they had survived. Together.

She pecked his forehead. "Don't you ever scare me like that again, Summers. I don't plan on becoming a widow."

"I don't plan on making you one, either." He smiled.

Embers. Flames. Blazes. A vision.

The Danger Room. Scott Summers and Jean Grey shielded into a cocoon of telekinetic power. She had collapsed over her spouse. Her face was panicked, her dress in tatters. Still she breathed with relief. After her meeting with Onslaught she was frightened, but she found comfort and safety in his arms.

Emma fled of that scene, but wherever she looked, more images flashed. Wherever she ran, remembrances shimmered around her. There wasn't shelter; there wasn't exit. She was trapped in the labyrinth of Jean Grey's memories. She shouted.

"Damn you, if you want to kill me, go ahead and try it. But quit these preposterous games!"

Her yell spread through the maze. No answer came back.

A harsh and mocking laughter chuckled in the distance of the slippery shadows.

------------------------------

"Jean… you used your powers... to shield me. It could have cost you your life."

"It wouldn't be much of a life if I stood by and let you die."

Scott took his shades off and sighed as the memory floated into his mind. His digits massaged warily at his eyelids. "No. It isn't."

"What isn't, mein freund?"

Nightcrawler. He grimaced and shoved hastily his glasses onto the bridge of his nose before glancing up. Kurt was hunched over him. Intense concern shone on his bluish face. His three-fingered hand offered a mug.

He was daydreaming in the teachers' lounge again. Great. He had to stop it before they started making awkward, oppressive questions.

Scott accepted the hot cocoa and forced out a smile.

"Nothing, Kurt. I've... been having trouble sleeping as of late." He muttered, bringing the cup to his lips.

"Hah. I'll bet." Hearing that voice, Scott frowned and glared across the breakfast table, around which the X-Men were gathered. Robert Drake was ensconced on a chair exhibiting a sarcastic sneer.

Scott clenched tightly a fist, squashing inward his anger. "What's your trouble, Iceman?"

Bobby ignored the implicit menace in Scott's soft voice. "What's MY trouble? If you weren't sleeping with that witch in the first place you wouldn't be complaining about it now," he hissed. Noticing the helpless, troubled stares he was drawing from the other X-Men, he shrugged. "What? I've only said what everyone's thinking. Now that Jean's gone-"

Scott slammed his cup on the table, spilling the warm beverage on the surface. "Don't even think of turning this into something about Jean, Drake. I know where you're coming from, and it has nothing to do with her. You aren't angry because you think I've betrayed Jean, but because you want Emma."

Silence. Bobby frowned and narrowed his eyes dangerously. The air's temperature dropped rapidly.

Scott could feel his temper simmering and boiling, pleading for a release. He wanted to bridle his fury, to retain his self-control; but he was too furious and too restless. "You've always enjoyed being the class clown, Bobby. But being a prankster doesn't attain you now that you want something. And you're pissed off about it. I'm sorry, but I won't be your scapegoat."

Alex leaned over Warren and whispered. "Someone was bound to tell it to him eventually, but I didn't believe it'd be Scott."

Angel elbowed his ribcage. "Alex, shut up."

Oblivious to that exchange, Robert Drake sat up, clenching his fists. His frozen body pulsated with blue coldness. Scott stood and folded sternly his arms. A red flare burnt behind his glasses.

They had met many years ago when they became the two first X-Men. Scott had rescued Bobby from a lynching mob, and Bobby became the little brother Scott had lost. They had studied together, fought together, and laughed together.

But the world had changed. They had changed. They were different.

Logan spared them a passing glance and focused back on his coffee. He wasn't getting in another pointless argument with Scott.

A loud thunderclap cracked, reverberating through the air and shaking the walls. Stares converged to Ororo. Her fist was raised and sparks danced along the knuckles. Her soft features were distorted with quiet, smoldering rage.

"You'll cease this foolishness, NOW," she stated in a very low hissing voice.

Not many people would question her command. Even fewer would dare when she displayed such wrath. Cyclops and Iceman returned to their seats reluctantly.

Ororo sat down briskly and spat a sour commentary about males being more thickheaded than mules. It was too low to someone other than Logan, who sat on her right side, and heard it. He gulped hastily his coffee to drown his laughter.

Scott contemplated the bubbles from his steaming cocoa in utter silence. As his hand rolled thoughtfully over his mug, he wondered what had gotten into him lately. He shouldn't have lost his control, his coolness with Bobby. But he felt too worn and irritable, and when he had used Jean to attack him, his iron-grip restraint slipped and he fought back.

Bobby had tried hurting him so he hurt his old friend in turn. Great, Summers, you're making progress. Jean would be proud of you. He shouldn't have been so callous, but he wouldn't permit Bobby to use his wife's memory as a convenient excuse to vent his jealousy.

His first question stood anyway. What the hell had gotten into him nowadays? Why did he behave like this? Sleeping with Emma, allowing any loud-mouthed asshole to goad him into a fight, bickering with his old friends... Stuff he wouldn't dream of doing years ago.

But that was the core of the matter, wasn't that? He wasn't the Scott Summers who led the first X-Men against Magneto one lifetime ago. He... wasn't the same person.

Hank regarded Scott quietly. He had erected again his mask of aloof detachment and stillness like a protective barrier, but he knew his friend well. And he was concerned. He could read the misery and the pain written on his haggard features and the fatigue and anxiety stiffening his fidgety motions.

He laid one hand on his shoulder, staring him slightly. "You look really exhausted, Scott," He uttered. "Are you having trouble sleeping? Surely I can prescribe you some sedative to mitigate the insomnia."

Scott glanced at him dizzily. Slowly his lips drew a rueful smile. A rare sight on him nowadays. "No offense, Hank, but you also look like shit. You can't sleep either?"

He shook his furry head in denial. "Not exactly. I've been having strange dreams lately."

The smile faded. "Strange... dreams?"

"Yes." Hank hesitated, baffled for that sudden and alarmed caution. A brusque urge for fleeing invaded him, and he was torn between it and his need for easing the worry burdening his chest. "About Jean."

Several heads rose abruptly and gaped horrifically at Beast. Beast glanced longingly at the door.

Logan blinked, pained but slightly puzzled, as his senses scanned the group. Obeying an impulse, he lifted his right hand. "Raise your hands if anyone here has been dreaming of Jean lately."

The atmosphere in the room became very tense. Several X-Men reluctantly raised their hands. Scott joined them after some long pondering.

Before anybody could say anything, the door creaked open and Kitty Pryde stepped into the room. Her dark eyes observed the scene in amusement, and she arched a slim eyebrow. "What is this? A show of hands?"

Without waiting for an answer, Shadowcat picked one chair and slipped comfortably between Logan and Ororo, her surrogate parents.

Rachel Summers trudged into the room after her friend, yawning powerfully. Pale horror froze her drowsy state when she noticed the only available spot was next to Scott. The redhead telepath gnawed her lower lip and claimed her seat awkwardly, avoiding looking at her father. With a glance she spotted the coffeepot on the counter and levitated it.

Kitty glanced at her friend with extreme concern before turning to Storm. "What was it that you were voting on earlier, Ororo?"

The windrider shook her head. "We weren't voting on anything, Kitten. We were investigating a new development. Some of us have been having dreams of Jean-"

A burst of glass breaking interrupted her explanation. She glanced sideways to see Rachel had lost her grip on the coffeepot when it was halfway from the breakfast table, and it had shattered on the floor. A puddle of hot black liquid was spilling over the tiles, and tiny glass shards floated on it.

"I'm sorry," the girl muttered apologetically, and telekinetically swept the rubbish and threw it into a dustbin. Next, she recollected the coffee molecules and poured them in her cup, ignoring the sick looks her action produced. Like everyone in her family knew, coffee was coffee.

Remy observed the girl carefully. His empathy wasn't required to imagine the cause of her shaky anxiety. "You have been having dreams about Jeannie as well, haven't you?

The young woman blanched and looked away. "Sort of."

"That means Scott, Robert, Warren, Henry, Rachel, Logan and me," Ororo mused. They were the closest people to Jean. She weighed the possible implications. They didn't bode her well.

"Perhaps there's someone else," Scott mumbled quietly.

Storm swiveled an intense, serious look at him. "What do you mean, Scott?"

He kept quiet, albeit his eyes darted briefly at the young redhead. With a defeated sigh, he sipped his drink and began talking cautiously. "Emma isn't sleeping well lately, either. She suffers nightmares of which she wakes up screaming. And she never wants to talk about them. Besides, her mood is worse than usual."

Warren leaned over Alex. "How can he tell the difference?"

Havok elbowed his ribcage. "Warren, shut up."

Scott drilled them with a glare, but he overlooked their conversation. All of them were having dreams or nightmares of Jean? Night after night for several weeks? What was the meaning of it? And why was he frightened of the answer?

No. Fright was a very simplistic definition to his feelings. Fear and longing, despair and hope, guilt and joy threaded and entwined in his spirit, weaving a cobweb where he struggled helplessly.

The hushed, insistent voice in his mind went on its ceaseless, droning whisper. Help me.

------------------------------

Emma stared at everything with a mix of helplessness and disgust on her face.

Flare-shaped visions had closed in on her, swirling in a golden vortex. Countless embers rotated around her, coalescing in a whirlwind of blazing light whose size and power grew with each flame it absorbed. In a matter of seconds the twister had expanded in a massive and howling typhoon that plunged its cone in the upper pitch-black shadows. Shards, fragments and bits from Jean's life swam in its coils, blending in a chaotic maelstrom of shapes, colors and noise.

And she was encircled by it. Jean's memories surrounded her, no matter where she gazed.

Scenes of Scott cuddling Jean tenderly. Scott staring at her with adoration. Scott kissing her fervently. Scott vowing his undying love. Scott making passionate love to her. Scott fighting for her. Scott protecting her. And he wore constantly that gaze of a man deeply in love. And she always displayed that expression of a woman who trusts fully in her man, a man whose smile stirred fluttering butterflies in her belly.

Sickening. Emma felt overwhelming urges of kneeling down and puking.

What was Jean playing at? She DIDN'T regret what she had done. She didn't feel guilty about it. Why should she?

Emma coated herself in her diamond armor and folded her legs. Then she leapt forward, diving in the firewall. A rush of blazes flayed violently around her body, but she managed to jump through the twister. A victorious smirk split her face, but she repressed her temptation of gloating in triumph, and broke in a run.

A ghastly vision hovered on the corridor, blocking her path. A translucent, smiling redhead woman. Emma glowered at it and sped up her pace, intending on running through the mirage.

The tough fist that struck her face unexpectedly was quite solid.

Emma fell backwards, landing roughly on her back. Raw, intense pain throbbed her face. Keeping her eyes tightly shut, the White Queen palpated her features. Her nose was a mess of broken, bloody cartilage. Her jaw quivered with a dull ache, and Emma feared that blow had cracked it.

Nursing her sore mouth with one hand, the White Queen stared upwards.

Dark Phoenix stood in front of her. A sickening grin twisted her obscured face. Blood dribbled from her right fist. Not Phoenix's blood.

Emma rose hastily, trying to disguise her frantic agitation with loath. Her hand wiped with deliberate slowness the red droplets that smeared her lips, and her aqua eyes squinted balefully at Dark Phoenix.

"Have you decided to finally show your face?" She sniffed contemptuously - cold, forceful arrogance to mask her inner dread - and crouched in readiness. "I was wondering what you were so frightened of."

Jean's crooked smirk widened, but she didn't utter any retort.

Her placid silence unsettled Emma. Through the years, during all their battles, Jean had always attacked with mindless fury whereas she goaded her, shielding her emotions behind a frosty disdain. That serene, smug attitude was unnatural in Jean Grey. It meant she didn't know her adversary any more.

The thought wasn't reassuring.

An eerie, lewd glint sparkled in her green eyes. The gleeful leer of a predator aroused for the musk of her prey's fear. Jean moved her palm in front of her face. Her fingers clicked.

Her figure vanished, leaving Emma alone in the darkness. Her surroundings shifted and melted away in an inky, limitless blackness. An immeasurable nothingness that dulled the senses.

Sudden several spots flashed with orange phosphorescence on the flat earth, encircling Emma. Thin beams started from them, drawing straight and curved lines on the land. The streaks prolonged and crossed with each other until tracing a twenty-foot wide circle circumscribing an inverted equilateral triangle.

Emma arched her eyebrows, acknowledging the symbol depicted. A Phoenix's mark. Sudden panic struck her and she stepped forward.

Flames erupted abruptly from the stripes on the ground and she stepped back swiftly. Two firewalls encircled her now; the inner ring shaped by blood-red fire and the exterior one forged with golden blazes.

Her heart was racing in her chest. Emma was scrutinizing the fire, listening in a silence pierced only for her mad heartbeats and her ragged breath, when she sensed the voice in her head. It was like a low whisper, a distant murmur of water welling up in the depths of her skull and spreading like a wave.

"Kill you, did you say? As usual, you don't understand a damned thing," the ripple muttered. Sarcastic, acid, and still amused. "Do you know what all that crap means of 'celestial avatar', 'fire made flesh', 'personification of the life', 'and embodiment of the love'?"

Flames swayed and crackled, gaining height. Emma watched their mesmerizing leaps and curls, and she felt an unwilling but most powerful fascination for that shimmering dance. It reminded her of a song.

Sweat glistened on her temples and she noticed the air was getting gradually hotter. Intense, sticky warmth settled around her as a blanket and slid between her skin and clothes.

"Absolute good and evil don't exist. Life isn't white or black. And my name is Jean Grey. I can be intelligent, courageous, funny, loving, vivacious, loyal, independent and strong; but I can also be impetuous, stubborn, selfish, childish, temperamental, resentful, secretive and irrational. They are my good and bad traits."

Emma panted roughly and heavily. The heat increased, becoming almost a physical presence. Dense, palpable, and incredibly heavy. Suffocating. It was suffocating her.

"I'm personified passion; my love can save the universe and my hate can destroy it. I was full of love but you tried to take it away from me. You tried stealing the man I love and cherish more than my life. My husband, my best friend, my lover, my everything. You played with his head to rob him and destroy me."

Heat. Hellish, simmering, sizzling heat slammed her. She was pierced by a pain similar to a thousand acid-tipped needles stabbing her and crawling under her skin. She screeched.

"Do you know the hurt of losing your life's love? Do you know the hurt of being betrayed by your only true love? Do you know what getting your heart ripped from your chest and shredded in bleeding chunks feels like?" The voice whispered. "DO YOU KNOW HOW MUCH IT HURTS, WHORE?"

Emma winced. Her head reeled and her body writhed. The abrupt mental shout had pummeled her skull as a sledgehammer.

And then came the real agony.

A radiation bathed her with the most intense hotness she had ever imagined. Blood boiled in her arteries like white fire; a flaming stream that flowed and branched out within her, searing her flesh. Her legs faltered and she collapsed over the ground.

"Someone else's feelings are something you don't give a damn about. You care only for yourself," the voice seethed. "Allow me to introduce you to an emotion called PAIN, Emma. And it's an insignificant, infinitesimal fraction of my own."

The White Queen wasn't listening. She was being suffocated, squashed by a heat wave that would make a sun icy in comparison. Inwardly her body was being torn apart.

Sweat oozed from her pores and evaporated instantly with a sizzle. Tongues of blistering lava clawed gleefully over their entrails. Dense air clogged her throat. Her heart was shriveling into her ribcage. She wouldn't be able to bear any more of this inferno.

Her mind tried numbly coming up with some comeback, some biting insult or sarcasm to throw at her foe. Tell her that she was never good enough for Scott. That she wasn't what he needed or wanted. That she couldn't love him unconditionally. That she couldn't understand him. That she didn't know the real Scott.

She had barely imagined her retort before an ear-splitting explosion burst in her head. The whisper had grown into a thunder.

"You know NOTHING! You've never shared your brain with Scott; you've never gone into his head. You couldn't have known which part was he and which one Apocalypse. You couldn't recognize the alterations. You didn't try to understand him, soothe him, heal him; only seduce him! His pain, my pain didn't matter to you. Only your pleasure did. And revenge is the greatest pleasure of all, isn't it?"

Emma shut her eyes, shedding tears that shifted instantly into vapor, and waited for the final blow.

"I loved him. I still do. I love him so much it burns me. He taught me to love and gave me love; you taught me to hate and brought me heartbreak. There isn't enough revenge in the universe to placate me." She paused. "I hate you, viper. I hate you like only the embodiment of the love can hate. I hate you with an intensity that crumbles planets to dust. Kill you, you said? Fool. Too easy, too quick, too nice. You deserve something worse. Pray to God, bitch. Only He can protect you from me."

Suddenly, the heat, the suffocation, the agony... stopped.

An invisible force, like a claw, wrapped around her and hauled her body upwards. Then she was brutally hurled out of that realm.

The impact of her soul crashing into her body was so jarring that her physical shell jerked violently on the bed. Eyelashes fluttered sluggishly and her eyes snapped open. Alarming darkness greeted her, but she recognized her bedroom. Emma let out an exhalation of euphoria. Free, she was free.

She rolled languidly over her bedspread and stared reluctantly at the alarm clock glowing on her bedside table. It read that it was eight o'clock.

She should have been working one hour ago. Emma uttered a profanity and kicked the bedcovers backwards with considerable annoyance. If Jean's ghost was determined to plague her dreams, couldn't she haunt her without disrupting her schedule?

Supposing it was a ghost.

Hell hath no fury like a scorned woman. Once she had run into a conversation where Scott assured Havok that the one who came up with that sentence was married to a Grey woman. She could vouch for it.

As she shuffled into the bathroom, her mind replayed constantly over her nightmare. Trapped in a dream she couldn't escape from. Funny. She never labeled Jean Grey to be a fan of old horror movies.

Her fingers released the laces tying her nightgown over the shoulders, and the silky undergarment slid softly to the floor. Her ravishing nakedness reflected on the bathroom mirror. She contemplated it.

Creamy, spotless skin. Huge, perky breasts. Curvy, sinuous body. Flat and smooth belly. Gloriously long and slender legs. She had never been shy or modest about her beauty. She treasured it and flaunted it openly. Her body was one of her best weapons, and she was proud of it.

_Someone else's feelings are something you don't give a damn about. You care only for yourself._

She fumed. As much as she hated admitting it, her deceased adversary had judged that right. Her family taught her she was nothing without power. She learnt her lesson well, and her adulthood was devoted to achieve power by any means necessary. Persons were means to reach an end. Her telepathy, her intellect, her body were useful tools. Her body, specifically, was an ever-reliable resort to have what she wanted.

Then why didn't it give her what she REALLY wanted this time?

Emma shook her head with dejected sadness, and she slipped in the booth without further delay.

_You didn't try to understand him, soothe him, heal him; only seduce him! His pain, my pain didn't matter to you._

That conceited, stuck-up, sanctimonious... What did she know about her? So what if she wanted revenge? Did Grey believe she was the only one capable of caring for Scott? Was she so arrogant to think that that was her exclusive right?

She snatched a sponge and scrubbed her hide fiercely, until it had acquired a bright hue of red. Emma winced upon the hurt and restrained her temper. More serenely her hand turned the faucet.

Rain poured from the showerhead, pounding softly her frame. Moist vapor stroked her body and fresh liquid glided over her skin, washing away the dirtiness, the distress and the pain. Her lips exhaled a groan of satisfaction. Water was a refreshing, soothing relief after those hallucinations of fire hunting her, encircling her, swallowing her.

_This is an insignificant, infinitesimal fraction of my pain._

Those words. Harsh, merciless, ominous. They disquieted her more than she was willing to acknowledge.

Had Jean felt like that? Burning ache rending apart her body, withering her heart, choking her chest... That crushing, lacerating pain... was what Jean had felt?

She couldn't have cared less for it usually. Emotionalism got in the way of amassing power. If she cared for someone else's feelings, she'd be again a weak, vulnerable and pitiful little girl, abused by everyone. Hence she didn't care for the effects her doings caused upon other people. Unfortunately, one of her actions might have a repercussion she wasn't prepared to handle. She might be facing love turned hatred.

_I hate you, viper. I hate you how only the embodiment of the love can hate. I hate you with an intensity that crumbles planets to dust._

Jean had stated she could be good or evil. And she wielded powers that allowed her to alter the cosmos' fabric itself. Her passion could save or crack worlds. And she had fueled her hatred, her anger, and her resentment. She had released her dark side.

Therefore, if Jean came back into that mind state... if she resurrected feeling that lethal, smoldering hatred... if she returned not feeling anything except that loath that gave her power to devour stars...

She wouldn't be the only one in danger. But the X-men, Earth and the entire universe.

---------------------------------------

A dead, solemn silence cloaked the graveyard like a stiff shroud. Not even the chilly wind that used to rustle the cypresses' branches and make the shrubs' leaves moved. The day wasn't particularly cold or gray, but a frosty sorrow and a black despair seemed to dwell in that place, impregnating the visitors with grief.

Footsteps sounded, shattering the seemingly unbreakable silence. A large figure approached to the slabs, treading on the meandering gravel path.

Piotr Rasputin contemplated the forlorn cemetery with a sullen expression of resignation. Bishop had asked him -rather ordered him - to patrol the grounds, but he was sure that the huge black man wouldn't be disgruntled with him if he stopped by the graveyard.

Besides, he really needed to come down there.

Colossus halted his stride in front of an old headstone, eroded by the weather. Moss and lichens blossomed on the tough stone, weeds grew around it and ivy climbed its sides, shaping a green crown.

"I've come," he stated simply, using an idiom that wasn't in English. His moist eyes read over and over the words chiseled on the marble. The same inscription was carved twice on the rock: Cyrillic alphabet to the Russian text; Roman characters to the English sentences.

He sat beside the marker, crossing his legs in lotus position. As he ensconced onto the lawn a frosty breeze rose, dragging the debris that littered the backyard. Some grass blades flew together, mirroring long strands of hair. Wheat-golden hair. Colossus shook his head, banishing his wistful fantasies.

"You must have felt very lonely, Snowflake. I haven't visited in a long time. However I was, well, deceased, so I think I have a good excuse." He paused. "No, I don't. I left the mansion after your funeral, and when Kurt, Katya and I returned from Scotland, I didn't pay frequent visits either."

Illyana Rasputin. His dear, beloved, and cherished little sister. When she was born, he swore to protect her. It was his duty like brother and son. And he failed spectacularly performing it.

A moist tear rolled silently down his angled cheek.

"Still I remember the words Professor Xavier told me when he met me: 'Your power belongs to the world, Peter. And it must be used to the good'," he mused. "Those words moved me. They made me feel part of a bigger whole. I left for America, ready to contribute, to make a difference. But our efforts have been fruitless so far. The world isn't a safe place for innocent children like you."

He remembered painfully the ordeals his sister had suffered since Arcade had kidnapped her to blackmail the X-Men; an innocent victim in a war she couldn't comprehend. After defeating him they had intended on taking her back to Russia. Perhaps if he had done it right away... No. He couldn't second-guess himself. The villains who hurt her could have reached her in any place and time.

Belasco, Limbo's ruler, had captured her. They saved her from his clutches, but not before he had transformed her into a thirteen-year old sorcerer. Demons had sullied her soul to corrupt her and force her to link Earth and Limbo, but she had rebelled. She used the Soul Blade to seal the portal, and rejuvenated to the tender child she was once. X-Factor returned her to their parents afterwards. Happy end?

Wrong. Years later, the Russian army unlocked her latent powers to destroy a monster. When it happened, they brought her to America to examine her, but she fell ill during the travel. Legacy virus. She fought it, they fought it, and God knows they did. But she passed away ultimately.

He recalled, ashamed, his conduct during the funeral. He recalled the cold rage that had consumed him. His outburst. His defection. He was so overflowed with pain, grief and fury, churning and bursting inside him, that he joined Magneto. The Professor had let him down, and perhaps it was past time to try another road.

Fool.

It was wrong. It was wrong, and he knew it since the first moment.

"I wanted to talk to you about one trouble, Snowflake. I know I can be very exasperating sometimes, but you know to listen," he uttered again. "It's about Katya. Yes, again. I don't know what to do, sister. A part of me wants to recover the closeness we shared long ago, but another is awfully scared."

Piotr recalled when they had begun dating. They were young and were in love; life was great. But then their relationship degenerated slowly. He saw her befriending boys like Dough Ramsey, and he started harboring doubts. Why would she want to date a Russian farm boy who was older than her? Fear and uncertainty nestled in his chest, tainting the love and trust.

And then he fell in love with another woman during the Secret Wars. Or so he thought then. In reality he was frightened and he looked for an excuse to give up.

He broke up with Kitty instead of trying to work out their troubles. A mistake he had been regretting every waking moment since then. And while he mourned their relationship, she moved on and fell in love with another man, only to commit his same mistake: let her doubts and fears overcome her and ruined her love.

And now, after a long while, they were reunited on the same team. And he knew his feelings hadn't changed. Though they weren't the same people they fell in love with once upon a time. They were different. Too different, he feared. Still he was sick of allowing his fear to paralyze him and his cowardliness drove him to commit mistakes. Sooner or later he should stop running.

He pondered that there were many parallelisms between his relationship with Katya and the recent troubles between Cyclops and his late wife. Perhaps he should speak with Scott about it.

His sight wandered over the yard as his thoughts drifted away. Right then, when his mind wasn't utterly focused on Illyana's tomb, he noticed a detail he should have paid attention to long ago.

There was a massive, deep hole on the land, like a bowl-shaped crater. The cavity's walls were blackened and carbonized, and mounds of dry mud were piled up around the borders. It looked as if a bomb had exploded inside the ground and the blazes had scorched it.

Above the empty grave was tipped a slab with an inscription carved on the marble: She Will Rise Again.

------------------------------

Notes: The memories from the first scene happened in: The Search of Cyclops 4; somewhere after UXM 353; between XM 70 and XM 71; and in UXM 334. The scene Scott recalls is taken from X-Factor 2.

And I don't know how Colossus has been brought back to life so I'm eluding that tiny bit.

Jean can seem out of character in the dream sequence, but she isn't. My take of Jean is she may be a good or bad person. She usually is loving, compassionate, caring and kind; but she's a dark side as well. And Emma has fueled her negative emotions, which unleash Dark Phoenix. By the way, the list of her good and bad traits is partially taken from an interview to Claremont about the Phoenix Saga.

Emma's scenes were difficult. I DON'T bash characters, whether I like them or not. Thus I had to portrait my Emma's view without demonizing her -a tough task getting in mind what I think about her-. I hope having succeeded in it.

To be continued...


	3. Part Three Wandering Wraith

-

Firebird Rising

Author: Jenskott

Summary: Jean Grey is dead. Will Phoenix be able to rise from the ashes again? What will happen if she does it? My own version of the new 'Phoenix Endsong' series.

Notes: Thanks for your reviews! They drive me to go on and encourage me to complete the story! So I'm grateful for all the people who wrote me some lines: Pinkchick –who kindly reviewed, Slickboy, Alrischa, Lil Jean, Illmantrim, Queen Peacock, Griever, Phoenix83ad and Goblyn-Queen. You are the best! Now I'll answer some of your questions:

**Griever:** The breakfast's scene wasn't written to bash Bobby but to show the tensions are fracturing the team and splitting up old friends. I don't support character-bashing, and there's no way in Hell that I insult the Original Five. They're untouchable. Regarding Bobby and Emma, I think they make an interesting pair, but in this story... You'll have to read to find out.

**Phoenix83ad:** I'm glad of my you like you so much my story. You'll find about Nathan in this chapter.

Again I want recommending the Scott/Jean forum (jott. to all Scott/Jean fans that read this story.

Rating: PG.

Disclaimer: Marvel owns the books. Stan Lee and Jack Kirby are their true parents.

Feedback: To Please, I need reviews! English isn't my primary language, so I need much advice.

-

Part Three. Wandering Wraith-

Annandale-on-Hudson.

Dark night settled slowly on the country, unfolding its black and starry canvas along the domed sky. As the dusk perished, casting its last bright rays upon Earth, silent shadows invaded the world. A pale moon hovered on the sky, round and bright, and brushed with its silvery light the darkened and cold town. Large storm clouds spiraled around the dazzling disc, and their tendrils -thick and black like treacle- entwined with each other, draping the moon.

In the nocturnal sky a bird glided over the wind, cradled by the glittering starlight. With deft flaps the animal swooped at a house surrounded by a quaint little garden and landed smoothly on a ledge. Its wings folded quietly and its sharp eyes spied through an open window.

Shadows flooded the silent kitchen. Wavering moonbeams pierced the penumbra, illuminating weakly the furniture and outlining with pale brightness two rigid figures sitting around a table. An aura of eerie quietness shrouded them; a pregnant, tense silent only disrupted for their faint breaths. They were frozen like two statues, mute and motionless, shocked by a pain transcended reason. John Grey gripped tightly the table, staring blankly at the varnished planks of wood. His wife, Elaine, buried her face in her hands. Her spectacles rested, forgotten, on the board.

They had lost their two daughters. And they had just buried the younger of them for second time.

With a slow, cautious motion, the door swished open, and nine-year Joseph Bailey showed up on the threshold. His lips opened to mutter a greeting, but his eyes took a quick peek at his grandparents' faces. Instantly he shut back its mouth and looked away. Quietly he retrieved a jar with orange juice from the fridge and two glasses from the cupboard and slipped rapidly out of the kitchen, avoiding looking at their eyes.

He dreaded the lights and shadows swirled on them.

Joe sauntered in the parlor where his twin sister, Gailyn Bailey, lay lazily on a couch. Her right hand held a glossy-black remote, and her thumb skimmed pensively over its buttons. Noticing her brother's arrival, the redhead girl ceased her device's inspection and swiveled her attention to the young boy.

Gail gazed at his expression. The grieving worry marring her features deepened. "From bad to worse, right?"

Slowly and numbly, her brother nodded.

Since Aunt Jean's death theirs grandparents didn't seem really live. They just... existed. Barely. They moved mechanically through the day, struggling to keep busy with anything to avoid thinking and remembering and feeling: get up, eat breakfast, go to work, return, eat lunch... But as the day moved on they ran gradually out of chores, and in the fall of the night reality seized them with its ruthless clutches. Grief overwhelmed them with paralyzing despair, and they withdrew within theirs shells.

They resembled walking corpses, pretending some semblance of life they didn't posses anymore.

The young boy shook his head mournfully and laid the jug and the glasses on the low table in front of the TV. He flopped down noisily onto the smooth couch and sighed with sorrow. Depression was nestled on his chest as a heavy flagstone. His pupils wandered idly over the ceiling's beams while his sister grasped the remote and brushed her digit over a button. The TV turned on with a burst of light and sound.

"... Therefore we think the best option to fight the proliferation of empowered beings is..."

Joe blinked. Alarm colored his face and he turned swiftly at the redhead ensconced by his side. "No! Gail, don't dare to touch the..."

Too late.

Glowing rage warped Gailyn's face in an unrecognizable mask and her arm flung the remote like a spear. The black projectile pierced the screen and stood embedded in the cracked glass.

"Damn it!" The young redhead girl cried in despair and incomprehension. "Why can't they let us alone?"

Her fists hammered violently the table and split jagged rifts on the wood. Joseph cringed, wondering how much punishment could endure the furniture. Although he was collected, quiet and patient, Gail had inherited the indomitable temper from the Grey women.

Though she was eerily still after her raging outburst. Her temples glistened with sweat and her body quivered with each ragged gasp her lips exhaled. She had unleashed the pent-up frustration and fury fueling her strength, and now they had left her... she felt hollow except for the grief numbing her heart.

A bright and wet sheen fogged her blue eyes. Her shivering hands shielded her face and she burst into tears. As she sobbed bitterly, venting her sorrow, she felt warm arms wrapping around her and pulling her in a comforting embrace.

Her chin rested on her brother's shoulder as he stroked reassuringly her back. "Take it easy, sister."

"It isn't fair. Why can't they let us in peace? We never asked being mutants. I never asked these damned powers. I hate them! I wish I was a simple flatscan." She wailed among faltering, wretched weeps. "People with powers use them to hurt other persons. And people without powers hurt who have them."

He sighed. "That isn't true, Gail-"

"It isn't?" She seethed brusquely. Her body stiffened and turned colder. She disentangled from him and glared straight at his eyes. Her aqua pupils were now sharp shards of frozen ice. And her expression, darkened and terrible. "Dad and mom were killed because we're mutants. We were kidnapped and brainwashed by an egg-thing because we're mutants. Our aunt is dead because she was a mutant. Powers only bring troubles. Our family would be happier if they didn't exist."

Joe curled his lower lip, unable of refuting wholly what she had just said. He drew a tissue from his pocket and wiped thoughtfully the wet paths trailing down her blushed cheeks. "The dreams are driving you mad too, aren't they?

She nodded. "Yes. Every night is the same scene. Nanny kidnaps us and brainwashes us. X-Factor storms into her aircraft and Aunt Jean rescues us. It isn't nice, but I'm not complaining about it. You suffer worst."

Joseph grimaced. His nightmares replayed always Aunt Jean's funeral. In his fantasy that day was grey and bleak, overcast with raven clouds wept heavily and drowned the land with theirs black tears. The vision, deeply etched in his memory, needled him with staggering pangs of pain. He shuddered, not wishing reliving that experience ever again. But ironically, he had lived through it earlier.

"Do you remember Aunt Jean's first funeral?" He mused aloud. "Do you think she'll be able to live again?"

Gailyn tucked uneasily a red curl behind her ear. "I don't know. But... How do you think we would feel seeing our aunt resurrecting over and over while our mom keeps dead? How do you think Grandpa and Grandma would feel, after having mourned for nothing? They'd be frightened of she'd pass away again, and they'd never be sure of her death was real. Perhaps they'd question whether she's real or not. Christ, I know it sounds awful, but maybe is better Aunt Jean stays de-"

Her troubled, regretful voice trailed off, and color dripped from her dried cheeks. Her lips thinned and horror dilated her pupils. Joseph arched his eyebrows in weirdness and he was about of inquiring what was wrong when his eyes focused upon a nearby mirror. His breath ceased.

The mirror was reflecting a window placed behind them. Masked amidst the slimy, murky shadows there was a gloom face, framed in a spectral orange flame. Aunt Jean's face.

Joseph Bailey felt horror seeping in his veins and freezing his blood, but he spun around and bolted towards the window. When he reached the windowsill, though, there was no trace of any stalker.

He inspired deeply, forcing himself to remain serene despite his wild heartbeats. Slowly he turned around. Gail stood behind him, pale and startled but serious, with her arms folded in front of her chest.

"Whatever we have seen..." He wheezed out, shivering. "We won't tell one word to the grandparents."

His redhead sibling nodded sternly.

Unbeknownst to them, a bush trembled in the garden. A golden bird slithered among its leaves and slunk away in the night.

-

The woman trudged along the streets with light steps and a heavy heart. Her blurry sight perused the adults walking, the cars racing and honking, the children playing. No one saw her, though.

No one could.

A hum tantamount to billions of voices screaming at once buzzed in her brain. An ocean of minds whose excruciating pressure crushed her. Her legs wobbled with each shuddering step, and she felt tempted to shut the voices out. Or shut them up. She could. A simple thought, a frown, a wave of her hand or a click of her fingers and the numberless lights blinding her mental eyes would black out. Still she felt reluctant to do it. They were too pretty. And somehow they gave her... Peace. Lulling comfort. Shimmering warmth.

Her path led her at a bend of the street. The sidewalk was empty and no cars drove on the asphalt. Still her mind was seeing another image, overlapped to the real scenery.

Two ten-year girls played cheerfully with a Frisbee, oblivious to the traffic. The redhead girl tossed the disc with a particularly vicious throw and her partner rushed to catch it.

The woman's green eyes widened and she felt anguish, panic and ancient pain biting her at once. Cold sweat drenched her temples. Her heart thundered in her chest and her body trembled with terrible shudders. She knew that a disgrace was about of happening and she couldn't impede it.

A blue car rammed brutally the brunette girl.

Her fragile body crashed violently, harshly, on the tough asphalt and lay motionless on it like a broken puppet, twisted in an awkward angle.

Her best friend cried and rushed to kneel by her side, holding her, hugging her, cradling her body. The flame-haired kid caressed tenderly her bruised face, feeling the greatest horror and pain she had known ever.

Her eyes bulged abruptly. She was feeling Annie's pain! She felt her fractured bones splintered and her pulped organs bleeding. Alien thoughts filled her head before dying away. Her heart stopped beating in her chest. Black haze dimmed her vision, and of sudden she was descending along with Annie in a bottomless darkness. Blackest, deepest and chilliest than nothing she had previously imagined. Her dearest friend stood on the edge of the abyss, and glancing sideways at her with grieving eyes, dove in it.

Leaving her alone in the darkness for two years.

The woman kneeled on the pavement, burying her face on her hands. A cascade of bitter tears flowed from her sore and reddened eyes.

"Don't leave me, Annie. Please, don't leave me. I didn't want killing you. I swear you I didn't want!" She cried.

-

The woman looked upwards, gazing fearfully at the large white building. The sight made her head dizzy, her stomach sick. Staggering emotions of hurt, dread and anguish overflowed her and urged her to cover, flee, hide. But she didn't it. She didn't know why that building induced that overwhelming terror in her; and precisely that ignorance and that fear impelled her to step in it, even though her soul screamed.

She never avoided a confrontation or a challenge. Never.

She bit her lips, studying again the façade of the mental ward and walked through the ample doors. She crossed the wide foyer, invisible as a transparent ghost. Her vigilant look scrutinized everything, from the white plaster covering the walls to the people inhabiting the rooms and halls.

Her senses were aware of everything and everyone at once. She smiled. The aggressive, pained and grieving thoughts of the people dwelling in that jail didn't obliterate her mind. Not even the ocean of thought flooding her skull was now squashing her, harming her. Actually she relished the delightful taste of the emotions invading her. They made her feel... Alive. Really alive.

The woman skidded to a halt in front of a room's door. Her emerald eyes peered furtively into the padded cell through a little window. There was a patient inside, but she didn't see it.

A redhead twelve-year wrapped in a straitjacket, strapped to one bed and heavily sedated. A middle-aged man and his wife cast at her stares of excruciating pain. A bald man in a wheelchair shot an assertive look of reassurance at them and motored towards the girl. His sharp mind detected instantly the evil voices harassing and damaging her head, and he erected a shield to keep them out and preserve her sanity.

Black fire burnt in her mind and incinerated the mirage. The woman turned around and fell back upon the door. With her eyes tightly shut she inhaled deeply. Emotions kept crashing in her mind's shoreline like sea waves. She drank them. They filled the horrific, chilly hollowness spread within her. They fueled the glowing blaze burnt in her core, impeding the void swallowed her. They... were like a drug her body craved.

She grasped each strand of thought she felt and tracked its source down. One of them led her to a husband standing by his schizophrenic wife's bed.

Husband. She repeated the word in her mind. Husband. It seemed holding any specific meaning to her. Her heart sped up its rhythm with the mere mention. Was she betrothed, engaged, married someone? The idea stirred many flaring emotions in her. Most of them warm and positive.

Some of them gelid and negative.

Ache. Sadness. Anger. Disdain. Hurt. Sorrow. Fury. Scorn. Pain. Grief. Rage. Contempt. Torment. Loath. Wrath. Hate. HateHateHatehatehatehatehate-

No! She can't hate. She can't hate him. That is what that harlot wants. She wants she despises him, loathes him, hates him. Then she'll own him. She wants him. All for herself.

Bitch!

The woman blinked, feeling her rage waning. The flares fueling her hatred wore off, substituted by sheer puzzlement.

She walked away, still ignorant and lost. Though some missed pieces fitted again in her brain's jigsaw.

-

Jamaica Bay.

A peaceful wind, tasting of salt and freshness, shoved the waves towards the coast. An endless tide of water rolled towards the sandy barrier and broke in the shore, spraying a shower of bubbling and snowy surf everywhere. The dark waters sparkled with the lights of the rising dawn, filling with shimmering brightness.

The woman wandered aimlessly along the shoreline like a piece of living driftwood. Her legs trod heavily on the sand; and with each fatigued, unsteady step, her body swayed as a reed beaten for the wind.

Her feet left a sinuous trail of footprints on the wet, muddled sand. Her glazed eyes contemplated the rumbling waves crashing ceaselessly in the beach. Dread bubbled in her belly and constricted her chest.

Her foot kicked the golden dust ruefully, cursing her blank memory. Why was she fearful from the sea?

She sat cross-legged on the sand, gazing at the immensity of the ocean. Its beauty was magnificent and terrible at once. She stared skywards, listening peacefully to the seagulls' squawks and shut her eyes. Her mind reached outwards.

Then she sensed them. Animals, plants and rocks. Human beings. Stars above. Infinite trillions and trillions of lights glittering in a mesmerizing constellation. A web of bright dots whose center was herself. Life flowed through her body, welling in and out it, in a cycle as ancient as the very time.

The buzz of billions of minds was now kinder, softer, warmer. It had merged in a song.

A song without lyrics, a language without words. Still she understood. She understood it in her heart.

Life. Death. Love. Hate. Joy. Sorrow. Light. Shadow. Male. Female. Each aspect from the universe has its opposite side, and they shape a whole.

The Creation.

The elements in the universe are like threads on a tapestry. Cut one strand, break the balance, and it falls apart. And then a new universe will be born from the ashes of the old one. Life, Death and Rebirth. That cycle had guided the cosmos before it existed and would keep doing it long after the last star had exploded.

Now she understood because she had died. She needed to die to learn really to live.

As she listened to the starlight, the woman woke up and observed the mesmerizing waves. They seemed welcoming her, like an old friend. However their sight intimidated her with indescribable panic. Why? What had happened to her? She required answers.

A sheen of red fire slid down into her eyesight.

Embers. Flames. Blazes. A memory?

Sky flared with a crimson light as a massive bird of gleaming metal plummeted down from the outer space. The shuttle descended like a meteor and collided with the ground in a blast of blazes, heat, smoke and molten shrapnel. The majestic engine shattered in several pieces, and big chunks of its hull sank in the sea.

Waters rose as a liquid mountain and battered brutally the beach. The destructive waves invaded the coast in devastating tide before retreating. A heavy, dead silence settled on the bay in the wake of ocean's choler.

Abruptly several figures emerged hastily out of the water, seeking oxygen desperately. However one of them headed again for the depths, ignoring angrily the man that tried reasoning him out of it.

Before he dove downwards, though, the sea lit up with a rainbow of flaring colors, and a massive blast exploded in the ocean. A woman, clad in a tight green-and-gold outfit, soared from the depths, enveloped in a giant, bird-shaped fireball, brightest than thousand suns. She spread her arms upwards and shrieked.

"Hear me X-men! No longer am I the woman you knew! I am Fire! And LIFE INCARNATED! Now and Forever... I AM-"

Abrupt pain speared the woman's mind, shattering the image as a thin glass. She cried as the shards stabbed her brain, harming it and hurting her.

The woman collapsed over the sand. Her past insisted in eluding her, punishing with growing harshness every try for getting it back. Still she tried clumsily grasping the glimpses of the memory was fading to black in a corner from her mind. Nonetheless she couldn't distinguish that people or recognize their features.

Above all the woman ached for remembering the face of the determined and brave man who hadn't given up on her. But she could only recall two red flares glowing on a hazy blur.

-

Once upon a time that establishment had been a coffee shop where beatniks and hippies gathered to drink hot coffee and recite cheap poems. Once upon a time it had been one of the most fashionable, most lively and most prosperous bars in Salem Center. But it had happened several decades ago.

The place was closed down nowadays. An iron padlock bolted the door. Blinds covered the windowpanes.

The woman glanced gingerly at the shop, sensing the residual psychic emanations coated its wide walls. She read the erstwhile bright 'Cafe A Go Go' sign, dangling limply atop of the door. She felt an odd, wistful longing.

Shaking her head, she strode forward, ignoring the brickwall. Her molecules filtered among the stone like water through a sieve, and she walked through it like a ghost, stepping into the bar.

Darkness surrounded her everywhere. Thick layers of filth blanketed the tiles. The dingy atmosphere smelt of dust and neglect. Stray sunbeams sneaked among the blinds and dispelled faintly the shadows, shedding some clarity in that brad, empty and lonely room.

The woman focused and drew the psionic prints from the place. Throbbing pain pulsed in her mind, but she refused giving up. She clenched her jaws and absorbed the energy. An excruciating headache clutched her temples but she forced herself to go beyond the pain. Shadows stirred steadily and bright fire circled her.

She stretched out her hand and grasped another thread to weave her lost memory's tapestry.

Embers. Flames. Blazes. A memory?

Bright lamps hung from the ceiling. Foul smoke pervaded the atmosphere. Tables and chairs were packed with people drinking and laughing. Slow music blared from a jukebox and several couples exploited the moment to dance freely.

In the middle of the dance floor were waltzing a man and a woman. He was a brown-haired man, tall and slim, beautiful and earnest, staring intensely at his match behind his crimson shades. She was a redhead, green-eyed woman, lean and athletic, mesmerizing and vivacious, sporting a dreaming gaze as her date led her in an endless dance.

Soft music enfolded them like a warm blanket. The woman gazed sweetly at him and laid her head onto his flat, broad chest. She listened to the rhythmic beats of his great heart and purred dreamily. In that moment she knew that she was right where she wanted being. She wanted remaining wrapped in his comforting arms forever. She wanted spending the rest of her life with him.

Three young men studied their actions, crowded together in a nearby booth: a bulky, clever-looking man, a brown-haired, smiling boy and a handsome and tall youth. The two first observed them with stares of delight and relief, whereas the latter one managed a happy smile despite his wounded heart.

Later that night he overcame his fear to rejection and gave her his heart's key. She'd take it and let him into her heart, her mind and her body, and never look back.

A dazzling lightning burst in the woman's mind, and she returned to the physical world. Her legs gave out and she plopped down on the floor. Her head burnt, but her heart was filled with mirth.

A face floated in her mind now. A handsome, slim man with lanky brown hair and elusive, beautiful smile. A scarlet haze flared behind his shades, and that glow sparked a powerful, aching emotion in her core.

She yearned for seeing him, like a thirsty wayfarer yearns for water. She felt he could be her oasis in her aimless wandering for the desert. Nonetheless she prayed for he wasn't a mirage.

-

Egypt. Akkaba.

Waves of dunes spread endlessly through a vast amber landscape. Ruins of an ancient city, half-buried by the sand and the centuries, disrupted the monotonous skyline.

Intensely glacial wind swept the vestiges of the city and battered the crumbled walls and pillars. Moonshine illuminated with ivory glow the lonely, wrecked wasteland, like it had done for fifty centuries.

Its sparkling light revealed several conspicuous figures creeping stealthily among the boulders and zigzagging towards the blackened remnants from the pyramid. Draped with light robes, the individuals crawled as far as the entrance from the majestic sepulcher.

Their leader contemplated the collapsed walls from the royal tomb. Greediness flashed on his narrow eyes and a frightfully dark smile tugged upwards his lips' corners. Very soon his master's secrets would be passed to his disciples. Apocalypse would roam the planet again, and his vassals would reign over everything.

"I wouldn't bet on it." A soft voice, deceitfully cheerful, sneered brusquely behind them.

Startled by the deep and unexpected sound, the Dark Riders squad whirled around.

A massive and cracked column was flying towards them. Three Riders jumped hastily out of the way, but the rest were swept and flattened beneath the crushing weight of several tons of stone. A pool of fresh blood spread underneath the giant rock, dyeing the sand with scarlet.

The survivors stared horrified at the projectile had been tossed at them like a tiny pebble. As they observed it, too stunned for panicking, a sinister shadow slid over them. Irrational fear overwhelmed them and they spun cautiously towards its source.

An awesome figure, half-lit by the ashen moon, stood up on a tall pillar, towering over them. A huge man, bulky and stern, draped with an indigo robe concealed his powerfully muscled and well-built frame. Leather gloves protected his hands, and his right fist clutched a long metallic spear of razor-sharp, curvy edge. An amber flare erupted from his left eye, lighting up the shadowed folds of his cowl.

"Hi. I'm Cable." He whispered with a very twisted grin. "Perhaps you've heard about me."

They had done. Swiftly the Dark Riders picked their assault rifles and aimed the long pipes at him. Frantic fingers pressed nervously the triggers.

Nothing happened. The mechanism had been telekinetically broken down.

"You HAVE to be fucking kidding." Cable growled, hopping off the column and landing on the sandy ground with an inaudible thud.

In a split-second he had rapidly crossed the distance separating him from Apocalypse's worshipers. His fist struck furiously a Rider's jaw with a crunching uppercut and his telepathy smashed another foe's mind in smithereens. The third Rider tossed his harmless weapon away and unsheathed a long and vicious-looking dagger. With a fluid motion Nathan hurled his long pike towards him, impaling his windpipe.

The Dark Rider collapsed limply over the dust. Nathan regarded silently the corpse in the moonlight and gazed at his eyes. Dulled, glazed and lifeless. Bereft of soul. His mask of tough ruthlessness cracked for one second, and compassion and regret flashed along the chinks.

He clenched his jaw and the moment of weakness faded. Nathan Summers slid his blood-stained psimitar out of the cadaver, spun around and walked at the ruins of the pyramid with a grim stride. As he navigated among the boulders blocking the entrance and penetrated into the bowels of the obscene building, unbidden memories floated in his mind. Those walls were coated with blood of civilizations sacrificed to a madman. His telepathy could feel it. But the throbbing hurt smothering him, the bottomless agony weighing him down, was personal and heartfelt.

In that place he had lost his war. In that place his father had waged his battle in his name. In that place his nemesis had murdered his father. And even though his mother had managed rescuing him, he had lost pieces of his soul in the process. Everything because he had been a pitiful failure in the moment of the truth, and Scott gave his life, his soul, his future to save him and give him another chance.

His legs faltered, suddenly weak. He leaned on a wall and breathed in and out slowly, struggling against the asphyxia clutching his chest like a claw. Awful heartache, poisonous guilt and burning self-loathing consumed him; beyond healing, beyond repair. Nathan repressed and squashed inwards the overwhelming feelings threatening spilling out of him like churning lava, and resumed his descent in the tunnel.

His walk in the darkness ended in a gate. The access to the chamber where Nur had tried the merge. And destroyed Slymm in the process. Since The Battle he had endlessly cursed that place. He had been forced to return once to fix his mess but he didn't wish seeing it ever again.

Nevertheless he couldn't ignore it forever. Remains of Apocalypse's technology rested still here. And Dark Riders prowled around the world, coveting that power. Or their master's resurrection. It was a menace too hazardous to be ignored.

Besides unpleasant dreams had disturbed his nights for weeks. Nightmares of Jean in Akkaba. And during his wakefulness he sensed a voice summoning him, a presence tugging from him. The last time he had experienced something like that, he had traveled to Time's End to rescue his little sister.

Uttering an Askani curse, the roughened warrior inserted the sharp tip of his psimitar between the metal sheets and channeled his formidable telekinesis along the shaft. A potent rumble echoed, and the gates slid open with a grating noise of steel grinding rock. Dim, unnatural light flooded the doorway and Nathan Summers walked determinedly where angels fear tread.

His glaring eyes roved around the room. Metal planks paneled the walls and alien circuitry dangled from a funnel pierced the vaulted ceiling. The floor was layered with metal in a succession of concentric circles. And on the center of the chamber...

Nathan staggered, like struck by a thunder. His heart almost stopped. It couldn't be.

The figure huddled on the very center from the room remained curled up and looking downwards. Her lean body was bare, enveloped in a robe woven with blazes, and her long cascade of flaming rich hair fell over her face, darkening it in shadows. Her eyes observed fixedly and obsessively the ground, like if she was searching any missing object. An aura of gloom sadness shrouded her like a protective invisible cloak.

Her shoulders trembled and stiffened abruptly, like if a stir on the atmosphere had alerted her at last of the scrutinizing presence of an intruder. A fierce shine lit up her eyes.

Nathan was suddenly smashed on a wall. Unbearable pressure squeezed mercilessly his body. He struggled against it, but the force restraining him didn't loosen at all. He gasped in amazement. He could snuff out a star with his unbridled power, but she was seizing him with a mere gesture.

Slowly, gradually, the woman rose. Folds of fire cascaded down her body and clung to it like a second skin. Her motions were sluggish and weary, like she was half-asleep or dazed. She didn't seem really aware of her surroundings.

"You aren't like the others. I can feel it." Her lips drawled languidly. "Who are you?"

She lifted fully her head and their eyes connected.

An electric current streamed between both minds, overloading them. A blinding flash burst into their heads, like the light of a dying star. The shockwave expanded to the Astral Plane and rocked its very foundations with a seismic quake.

Embers. Flames. Blazes. A memory?

Midnight. A moon, twenty decades older, glowed on the polluted sky, illuminating a weird-looking tower of organic structure. On the tall rooftop a mature redheaded woman and a ten-year silver-haired boy were huddled together. The boy was sat onto woman's lap as she cradled him and consoled him. Her soft, sweet words lulled slowly the child in a peaceful dream.

The blazing fire receded, dissolving the images. The dusty chamber reappeared around them.

Time passed. Nathan and the woman gazed wordlessly at each other. Awkward, uneasy silence surrounded them, and neither of them dared to break it.

The woman regarded him warily and approached to him without breaking eye contact. He seemed almost frightened from her. His fear confused her and unsettled her greatly. She didn't want scaring him.

When she was close enough, she laid tenderly her hand on his cheek. He squirmed as a fretful, skittish colt, and she noticed her telekinetic grip was squashing him. Ashamed of her carelessness, she slackened slightly her strength, allowing him breathing.

"Who are you? Why am I feeling this deep connection to you?" She mused wonderingly. She felt his bewilderment and tilted her head, boring her hollow stare in his greyish-brown eyes. "I can feel it. A link, a bond. In my heart, in my soul. Who are you? Who am I?"

Nathan blinked quizzically. Could that amnesiac, confused woman be really his mother? Alive again? His analytical mind examined the possibilities but he realized he really needed more information.

Her hand drifted downwards. She placed it tenderly on his thorax, sensing the scars riddling the hide and the heart thumping beneath. "You know him, don't you? The red-eyed man. You know him. You're also linked to him. Shall you take me to him?" She begged with misery and wrapped her arms around his solid frame.

Nathan performed a swift, superficial scan. She was dreadful and desperate and yearned for warmth, solace, reassurance. Her memories were lost and she wanted getting them back, but she couldn't. Given that a telepath never forgets anything, she had to be repressing them with a subconscious block.

She was sinking in despair and needed a piece of driftwood to avoid drowning. She needed help.

"Yes, I know the red-eyed man." He replied finally. "I can take you to him and help you to get back your memories... If you come along with me and let me."

The woman nodded quietly. Her head rested wearily on his chest and she sighed with elation.

A warm sensation of relief soothed her chest. Perhaps she had found at last that she had been desperately looking for. Home.

-

Notes: Jean Grey's infancy was narrated in UXM 241. I think she was committed to a mental ward but perhaps I got that detail mixed with another universe -but it's possible it happened, and it's my history so I'm using it anyway; she was transformed in Phoenix in UXM 101; Scott and Jean danced together during Bobby's birthday in UXM 33, and Scott told Jean he loved her afterwards; the Apocalypse/Scott merge happened in XM 97; and the scene with Jean and young Nathan is taken from 'The Adventures from Cyclops and Phoenix' 3.

Jean's nephew and niece are mutants but I don't remember their powers have ever been revealed. I suppose psionic powers would be logic, but I think would be cool if they had physical powers instead.

To be continued...


	4. Part Four Love and Hate

Firebird Rising

Author: Jenskott

Summary: Jean Grey is dead. Will Phoenix be able to rise from the ashes again? What will happen if she does it? My own version of the new 'Phoenix Endsong' series.

Notes: Thanks for the reviews! I'm very glad of my series have so much attention. Thanks to: Pinkchick –my beta-reader-, Alrischa –You asked for more, these are the consequences-, Slickboy –I hope you like it-, Phoenix83ad –Did you receive my e-mail? By the way, I know Rachel is technically older, but I don't think Nate regards her like his little sister-, Wen1 –I hope this chapter be less confusing to Evo fans-, Tasha –You keep writing great stories and I'll keep writing this-, Lil Jean –I sent an explanation about the current canon comic, if you want I can explain it to you- and Roquetshipper –Glad of you think I've portrayed Jean correctly-.

I warn one scene can be somewhat disturbing. And again I recommend the Scott/Jean forum (jott. to all Scott/Jean fans that read this story. We want more people!

Rating: PG.

Disclaimer: Marvel owns the books. Stan Lee and Jack Kirby are their true parents.

Feedback: To Please, I need reviews! English isn't my primary language, so I need much advice.

Part Four. Love and Hate-

Fire. Fierce. Radiant. Burning. A whirlpool of blazes flooding everything. Crackling tongues of amber flames curled around him during his descent, enveloping him and stroking him. Never harming him.

A cold gust in that Inferno's core grazed his rough cheeks of sudden. He peered downwards. Far below him rotated a pit of the deepest blackness, gleaming in the eye of the blazing typhoon. Without hesitation, he dove into the vast and swirling darkness.

Shadows surrounded him. Chilling him. Oppressing him. Asphyxiating him. A realm with no warmth, no light, except for a tiny dot of brightness that twinkled in the distance. Like a dawn. He levitated at it carefully.

And then he knew.

Nathan Summers shivered dreadfully.

A wave of dizziness crept over him.

His brain throbbed like if a steel claw was tightly clenched around his skull. A black haze clouded his vision and his awareness. His legs faltered and his body swayed and tottered dangerously.

Two slim arms wrapped hurriedly around his torso, stopping his fall. Scott clung stubbornly to that light physical touch to chase away the migraine smashing his skull and the drowsiness numbing his limbs. His eyelids fluttered weakly to clear his blurry eyesight and he glanced at his rescuer.

Jubilee gazed at him with concern glimmering on her pupils. She let go of him warily. "Are you ok, Cyke?" Her hand combed her raven curls in nervousness. "You seemed seriously sick for a second."

Scott forced himself to smile. "Thanks for the concern, Jubilee, but it isn't necessary. I was feeling somewhat dizzy, that's all. I suppose I have much sleep to catch on."

He nearly chuckled in bitterness. Plain insomnia wasn't what was wearing him down. Nightmares about Jean's appalling death haunted him. They didn't let him sleep. Voices whispered in his mind's fringes. They didn't let him rest. And since Colossus had reported Jean's grave was empty... he felt as though he was teetering on the edge of a bottomless cliff.

"Uh, uh." The Chinese girl muttered skeptically. Her worried glance hardened in a piercing stare. Scott grimaced, realizing she didn't believe him. But he couldn't explain the pain and remorse poisoning him like a slow disease. His team trusted him, relied on him. He had to be strong for them. Keep the leader façade.

The violent sound of a door banging noisily into a wall saved him from further interrogation. Scott Summers and Jubilation Lee swiveled their stares at the direction where the noise came from.

Warren Worthington was storming out of a bedroom. His fists were firmly clenched and his visage was distorted with fury... and something else.

Scott arched a slim eyebrow, acknowledging the grieving pain mingled with anguished anger on his face, but he said nothing. He just sidestepped swiftly, gazing with questioning but silent compassion. Warren gave him a sidelong look of pained gratitude as he hurtled past him.

Jubilee peered at the winged mutant as he scurried rapidly out of the hallway and turned to Scott. She was amazed over the fact that he hadn't stopped him. "Shouldn't we go after him? He seemed seriously pissed off."

Cyclops shook his head sadly. "No. I know my friend and that's the last thing we must do right now. Whatever has happened, he won't listen. We can be more useful somewhere else in the meantime."

"Uh? Like where?"

Scott raised his arm towards the door left ajar. "That is the bedroom Warren and Miss Guthrie are sharing these days, isn't it? I bet they have just gotten into one huge fight-"

Jubilee was darting hastily at the room before Scott finished his sentence. He trailed behind her grimly.

An un-breathable tension gripped them when they stepped into the bedroom. A boiling distress poisoned the air with an unmistakable scent of murky gloom and sorrow. The rarefied atmosphere was stiffened with silence, except for the sound of shaky, woeful sobs. Paige Guthrie was sitting on the bed, her hands shielding her gorgeous face to mask her weeping. Anguish oozed from her and pervaded the ambience.

Horror and pity dripped from Jubilee's face. "Are you ok, Hayseed?" She voiced, revealing her presence.

Paige's head jerked up. A hostile glower burnt on her face. "Yes. Go away."

Jubilee shook her head and sauntered into the room. Scott stayed behind and shut the door gingerly. They didn't need an audience.

"I don't think I'll be doing that, Guthrie." The Chinese girl plopped down beside her partner. Her arm drifted over her backside and kneaded tenderly over her shoulder plate. "What were Wings and you arguing about?"

"It wasn't an argument. It was a difference of opinion." Paige retorted fiercely.

"Whatever. What was your difference of opinion about?"

"Nothing. It's only that-" Her haughty tone cracked and Paige shut her eyes painfully. Her pretense of nonchalance was futile, she realized. Especially with Jubilee. She read uncannily through her masks, and she always read too much. "Have you ever gotten into one of those fights where it starts with one simple disagreement about clothes or meals but unexplainably grows until it becomes a huge, ugly monster?"

Scott shuddered, recalling one time when he was shopping for clothes with Madelyne and he asked her opinion about one pair of jeans. The situation had degenerated quickly after his brilliant idea and he barely walked out of the mall alive.

"Suddenly we were shouting at each other. Trying to HURT each other." She sobbed, recalling how they had stabbed at each other with cruel words of sharp edges, until their hides were bleeding. And how cruelly she had twisted her dagger. "When he yelled I was too young to understand him I yelled he... didn't want to get his hands dirty with a farmer girl instead of a scantily-clad, purple-dyed vixen. Then Warren g-glared at me with an expression... like if he was really seeing me for first time... and hating immensely what he saw... He narrowed his eyes and stalked off."

She looked at Jubilee tearfully.

"God, I... don't know how I could say that to him. I was so... furious. Fire burnt in my veins. He was having doubts about me, our future, our feelings... but above of all I was enraged because... Deep down in my heart I couldn't disagree with him."

Scott chose that moment to break in the conversation. "Sincerely, Miss Guthrie, I was stunned when I heard both of you were an item. And it wasn't cause of your age difference." He added swiftly before Husk retorted with a scathing insult. "But because Warren is just as screwed as me. And more jaded."

Paige blinked in bewilderment.

"Why do you think we've become such good friends? Did you know his uncle killed his father and tried to marry his mother?"

"Uh? Wings Hamlet is not."

Scott snickered. "Be careful, Jubilee. If you keep slipping, you'll give away there's an intelligent young woman hiding beneath the teenage prankster mask."

Lee let out a heartily, wicked giggle. "Earth would blow up. I'll have to be more careful."

He nodded and stared at Paige again. Kindness shone through his visor. "Most people regard Warren like a pampered, shallow, rich boy. They have absolutely no idea. They don't know he'd give up his entire wealth for parents who cared for him, friends who loved him, people who wouldn't force him to hide his wings.

"He was virtually an orphan. And he never had any real friends until he enlisted in the X-Men; only hyenas who hated his guts and wanted something out of him. So he was wary of getting emotionally attached to someone and resorted to date half-witted bimbos who only loved his hair and his bank account. When he became an X-Man he played that farce of a superficial, cheerful, carefree boy. But he deceived neither of us. And the team gave him something that I also yearned for: a family to love and be loved unconditionally.

"He's changed hugely since then, but I've seldom seen him happy. He never was close to his parents, but he suffered badly when they died. Since then he's been wondering if he couldn't have acted differently to save them. And even though he's dated many women he's failed in all his relationships. Hank, Bobby, Jean and me believed Betsy would be 'it', but..."

Scott's voice trailed off in a meaningful silence.

Paige had lowered her head as Cyclops spoke and was studying the flurry carpet mutely. Grief, despair and anguish were ripping her apart and eating her alive.

"I didn't know any of that." She stammered among shivers. "I love him, but... I never really knew him. And how can I claim loving him when I've never known anything about him?"

Lee grasped her hand and squeezed firmly. "There're many ways to love. Wolvie is like a father to me, and I love him; but I'm not in love with him. I thought I did because I liked him: he's hot, cool and witty. But then I realized that's a teenager crush, no true love. And I learnt loving the real Logan, not my fantasy."

Paige gazed bleakly at Jubilee, feeling an itch on her eyes. Unbidden tears trickled down her face. Her friend placed one hand on her damp cheek and stroked it soothingly, trying infusing solace.

"You haven't to be tough or strong or brave with me, Hayseed. Let it out. It'll cleanse your soul."

The young girl stared at her friend through a moist sheen. Slowly she draped her arms around Jubilee's neck and slumped over her. Repressed shudders rocked her body and she started to cry. Lee hugged her fiercely, tightly, as she sobbed like a wretched child, drowned by overflowing sorrow.

Scott sneaked quietly out of the bedroom.

Nathan looked around. He had traveled from one end to another from the time, visited distant galaxies and witnessed the birth and death of alternate realities.

And he had seen no place like the depths of that mind.

An utterly unearthly landscape expanded around him. The atmosphere was misty, unbearably thick, and the sky was dyed with the purest and prettiest blue hue he'd ever seen. A sky without sun, clouds, moon or stars. The barren land around him was strewn with strange mounds of cobbles: irregular cones of jagged rock protruded from the craggy ground. Countless triangular spikes spread as far as his sight reached in long rows and columns, resembling a weird...

Graveyard.

Nathan repressed an uneasy quiver and walked onwards. The line of stalagmites ended right in front of him. Beyond the tombstones the terrain was sandy and littered with round pebbles. Like a sea's shore or a river's bank.

Along that riverside a large stream stretched like a snake, flowing peacefully towards nowhere. The waters welled quietly without the barest murmur. No wildlife stirred the surface and there weren't signs of plants. Nathan narrowed his eyes but his enhanced sight couldn't reach the opposite bank.

Bloodcurdling wails and appalling howls grated his ears. He noticed he wasn't alone; actually he was a droplet in a sea of people. A multitude of haggard persons trudged, limped or crawled towards the river, moaning awful laments. Some dove in the waters and were dragged by the waves; other people huddled together in the shore, as if waiting for something. Or someone.

Nathan frowned thoughtfully. This setting was a psionic mirage, projected by her mind. But why was that vision engraved in the memories he was trying to unlock? When he was a newcomer in that century he had read old legends and ancient fables enthusiastically. And that vision reminded him of the afterlife according to Greek Myths. Perhaps it was the allegory of a remembrance?

He was pondering its meaning when his eyes spotted a familiar figure. Painfully familiar. A flare-haired, lean woman strolling calmly at the wide river with heavy steps. All souls scurried out of her way, stricken by a nameless horror. Never did she spare one glance at them, though, like they were insects beneath her notice.

Fright struck Nathan and he bolted onwards, trying to reach her. A bulwark of bodies blocked his path but he shoved them aside violently. The ghouls roared in fury and hundreds of them lunged at him. The herd of unliving beings covered his frame and clung to him like hungry leeches. He could feel the weight of their corpses latching around him, the touch of their scrawny fingers tugging from his vest, the reek of his flesh clogging his nostrils.

This was too sinister. With a grunt of disgust, he tapped in his power. His self erupted abruptly in flares like a golden sun and the blast flung away the corpses harassing him. The cadavers that hadn't flown off squealed in abject dread and ran away from the light and the warmth.

Nathan reabsorbed his energy with a smirk. They wouldn't bother him again. Nevertheless his satisfied grin mutated in horror when he saw she had already reached the Styx's bank. Now she stood still in front of the river. Peering glumly in the distance. Waiting.

A steady lapping echoed. Like the splashing of oars hitting the water. A dim, blurry shape appeared among the thick billows of steam floating over the stream. A boat was sailing at the riverside.

Slowly the ship emerged from the vapor and Nathan saw its pilot. Surprisingly, it wasn't Caron the Boatman but a woman. A redhead woman with a striking likeness to his mother. She rowed determinedly towards the beach, approaching steadily until the prow ran aground in the wet mud.

The boatwoman disembarked from the vessel. The woman's features brightened with giddy joy and she dashed at the newcomer. Both women merged in a fervent, crushing, loving embrace.

"Have you come to fetch me at last?" She whimpered among tears of sorrow and happiness.

Her interloper shook her head ruefully. "No. I'm sorry."

Abruptly startled, the woman gasped and stepped back. She didn't break her hug, though. "B-b-but Sara."

"Your time hasn't come yet."

"Then when will it come?" She burst into glistening tears. "I can't do this anymore, sister. I'm sick of living to suffer and dying to live again! I want to pass away like any normal person and rest at last! The fights, the deaths, the pain... I could bear it as long as we were together! B-but he d-doesn't love me anymore and I haven't any strength left! I'm tired, Sara. Tired of seeing blood and violence, of enduring pain and hatred... It's too much! Too much! Please, carry me with you. I want to meet Annie and our grandparents..."

"And our parents don't matter to you anymore?" Sara retorted viciously. Her voice turned harsh and her glare stern, and her sister felt the sudden sensation of holding a warm less obsidian chunk. "Or my children? Or your own offspring? Or your husband? How can you be sure of he doesn't love you now? You didn't exactly try patching up your relationship; you ran away from each other instead of confronting your troubles. Just like you ran away from dad, mom and me when your powers emerged and you realized we were frightened of you. You're ALWAYS running away, dear little sister. With any excuse."

She lowered her head gradually. "I'm exhausted, sister. I need to stop my walk and rest. Is my wish so selfish?"

"Of course not, Jeannie." Her sister temporized. "But your task is far from over. Live, Jean. Please. Live for me. Live for our parents who need their daughter. Live for my kids who need their aunt. Live for your children who need their mother. Live for your husband who needs you whether the stubborn boar realizes it or not. Live for all the people who need your help. Live for proving someone has ever lived."

Jean didn't answer; still there was an odd glow shimmering in her eyes. Slowly her skin gave off a golden radiance. Charring cosmic fire bled from her body and crystallized in the shape of a rampaging bird of prey. Abruptly Jean arched back her head, spread her arms fully, uttered a piercing shriek and took off skywards, illuminating the whole mindscape with the blinding brightness of a star.

Nathan watched attentively her burning figure as she vanished in the firmament releasing a challenging cry. He had seen. And understood.

His soul faded in a golden flash.

A gelid, biting breeze ruffled his feathers and tickled playfully at his bare skin.

Angel smiled with the nice sensation of the wind blowing gently on his face. With a delighted shout he soared upwards and pierced the blanket of wooly clouds like a spear. He emerged out of the sea of whiteness and spread his wings widely to greet the sun. Bright cerulean sky surrounded him everywhere. He hooted a shout of freedom and dashed up, down, right, left, diagonally. Sheer exhilaration throbbed inside him and flowed along his veins.

Pangs of hunger in his stomach informed him he had depleted his energies. Reluctantly he maneuvered downwards. But as he left the skies he couldn't quite wipe the regretful displeasure off his face.

With skillful and experienced flaps he swooped towards the mansion and landed in front of the kitchen's backdoor. He glanced at the doorway and sighed. There he was, just like he expected.

Scott tilted his head slightly and smiled. Warren was SO predictable.

"Are you feeling better now, Wings?" He queried, using Warren's old nickname intentionally. Perhaps it was emotional blackmail, but he wouldn't hesitate in using it to extricate him out of his shell.

"Save it, Slim," Warren bristled exasperatedly, turning his back. He tried pretending serenity, but his wings' nervous twitch betrayed his inward agitation. "Let me guess: you've talked with Paige and now you want to talk with me about my feelings. And if I don't cooperate, you'll push my buttons. Fine, screw you and your fucking mind games, Summers. I'm not in the mood for this."

"Fair enough," Scot replied. He approached Warren and laid a hand on his taut shoulder. "I'm not in the mood either."

Scott kept quiet. Awkward but intense silence shrouded them.

Warren gazed wistfully at the rolling clouds and shut his eyes. He needed to get off his chest the stone that was nestled on it. "You'd think I'd already learnt my lesson after so many heartbreaks, but I always commit the same mistake. I always fall in love. And what for? I've never managed to keep one relationship. Perhaps I should stop trying it, but I can't live without loving. I need someone. I need..."

He shuddered, struggling for spilling out a long-time denied truth. "I need Betsy."

Scott opened his mouth but he stopped himself. If he told him he needed, missed and loved Jean, Warren would throw Emma on his face. And then they'd engage in a pointless brawl.

He stepped around and embraced the winged mutant. "Bar?"

Warren nodded. "Bar."

Both friends longed in the comfort. For an instant the resentment, the rage and the regret that had plagued and tainted their friendship for months had vanished.

Smothering weight.

It was always the first sign of the return to the material world. The sensation of the soul encased in a shell, protective but heavy like lead, and of the weighty air coating the body and filling the lungs. Senses overloaded the brain with physical perceptions so abruptly that they provoked momentary dizziness.

Nathan groaned, feeling itching cramps stinging his sore muscles. He blinked to focus his eyesight.

A vague shape stirred clumsily in front of him. The woman prostrated on his bed propped on her elbows and cocked her head slightly.

"Have you found out anything?" She queried. There was a mix of curiosity and apprehension in her voice.

Nathan swayed hesitantly on his chair. He gazed at her with weariness. And sorrow. He had sneaked into her mind to find the key of her locked memories. And now he knew.

"Yes. I have... Jean," He stated.

"May you remind me again why we are here, Warren?"

"Because we needed to have some male bonding," Warren Worthington explained, munching a piece of his pastry.

"Fine. Then why did we bring along Hank?" Scott replied, aiming across the table with a spoon.

"Because he saw us driving out of the garage and he thought something was amiss. Besides, any excuse is good for hauling Victor Frankenstein out of his lab."

Henry McCoy huffed with all the indignation he could muster. A roguish smile lit up Scott's face and he sipped his black coffee. "Okay. Then why is Bobby tagging along?"

"Because Drake needs a break. Besides, do you want to leave him loose and unchecked in the school?"

Bobby glared up from the huge sundae he was engulfing. Instantly he plunged his spoon into his multi-colored ice cream and catapulted a scoop of frosty vanilla at Angel. Warren shielded his face from the assault with an ashtray and reached for his own food.

Hank burst out in guffaws. His cheerful, uninhibited laughter melted away the strain. "I don't remember the last time we enjoyed our leisure with such good spirits."

Bobby twirled his spoon on the ice cream, shaping a whirlpool on the bowl. "It's true. When was the last time we hung together, boys?"

"Without concerns, without fights?" Scott muttered plaintively. Sadness and longing colored his voice. Since when did they need a reason to go out together? "It seems like forever."

A heavy silence settled on the table.

Warren shook his head. "Do you remember the post-study nights when we drove down to the village to hit on the girls? I drew them with my smile, and Hank made them dizzy quoting Shakespeare, Byron or Keats. And then they sat around Bobby and spent the whole night fawning to Drake. 'What a cutie! He looks like my little brother!' " He mimicked.

"Alas, we knew any fine woman was peeping stealthily at our leader. But Slim never noticed it. He remained in our booth, gazing perpetually at his redhead companion."

"And then some waitress annoyed him, he pissed her off and we got lousy service." Bobby chuckled.

Scott raised his chin and sniffed disdainfully. "Pissing people off is an art that requires maintenance. If I don't practice with any idiot that pesters me, I'll mellow in my old age." His hand clutched his mug thoughtfully. "And those waitresses were really annoying. Blonde, superficial bimbos bore me."

Beast elbowed Bobby, silencing him effectively. With a heavy sigh he contemplated his bubbling drink, trying very hard not to peek sadly at Scott.

He knew what Bobby was about of tell him. Emma Frost was a fine example of the kind of women Scott used to loathe with ardent passion. The White Queen wasn't by any means a bimbo - she was evil and ruthless; but she was very clever, arrogant, spiteful and very controlling.

It was another of the deep, radical changes he had observed in Scott. And he was afraid of it.

Warren had devoured his morsel and now fiddled with his fork, drawing idle spirals on the tiny plate. "What has happened to us, boys? We used to be friends."

"Jean." Hank mouthed. That hushed whisper started another pregnant silence.

Scott's eyelids shut behind his shades. He tipped his head backwards lightly, feeling a familiar chill. Like a beast, the hurt crawled beneath his hide, gnawed his bowels and sliced his heart into bleeding shreds. He moaned inwardly and struggled to grasp the reigns of his heartbreaking torment. Wasn't the pain supposed to be less heart-rending after a while?

Bobby contemplated his bowl. Remnants of the ice cream smeared the glassy walls, thawing gradually and sliding down. The tiny rivers of chocolate, cream, coffee and vanilla blended in a gluey lake of sugary sweetness on the bottom. Long ago he had licked the recipient thoroughly, flaunting his scarce regard for evil proudly, restrictive table manners. But he didn't want to now. Since his frozen self had become permanent, childishness was no longer appealing. He missed it, but he had lost its cheerful temper.

However, there were some things he didn't want to risk losing.

He raised his sight and opened his mouth. He hesitated awkwardly, but he forced himself to go on. "Scott, I... I'm sorry for the other day."

Angel and Beast glanced confusedly at him. And Scott pierced him with an intense gaze. "What are you exactly sorry for, Iceman? You know what you said."

The tone was acid, harsh. Bobby gnawed his lower lip. He felt his temper heating, but he needed to remain... cool. "Yes, but... I don't..." He sighed in deep frustration and began again. "Yes, I'm angry with you, but... We've been friends for... how long? And you were right: My outburst wasn't about Jean, but about Emma. And I don't want to be fighting with you for Emma."

Iceman quivered. He seemed really miserable and hopeless. Scott stared at him with chagrin. He wished to soothe his friend's hurt, encourage his spirit. But what could he tell him? That he wasn't in love with Emma? Oh, yes, Bobby would feel way better.

"I have a hugely lousy record where women are concerned. On the other hand you got lucky, met someone and wasted it. And now you're romping with a woman that I... And worst of all is I know Emma wouldn't glance in my direction even though you broke it off."

Scott looked away. "I can understand you're upset about the situation. But my current state of affairs -" That word. Cyclops cringed. " - isn't open to discussion. It's my business, Bobby."

Iceman frowned and clenched his fists defiantly. "All right. But I have a right to be angry too. Jean was my friend and I think you're betraying her..."

Scott slammed his palms on the table. Blinding red light blazed behind his shades. "You think that, right? You think you KNOW what Jean would feel, think or say. Don't you?" He growled.

Bobby recoiled in fear, not expecting that display of frosty and once boiling rage.

"Listen well, Drake. When I believed Jean died in that volcano I shut down my heart to bear the pain. I was emotionally DEAD - a fucking walking and breathing CORPSE - and everybody thought I was cold and heartless. When I watched Jean dying on the Moon I cried and wallowed in grief and despair and everybody was glad, convinced of I was mourning properly. I have news for you, pal: when Jean returned, she wanted to kick my butt for doing something so stupid. My suffering DIDN'T make her happy." Scott paused. "And right now everybody is downright disgusted because I'm trying to restart my life instead of falling apart in the seams and drawing up suicide notes. I'm sick of brooding to please someone else's self-righteousness and I'm sick of hearing people claiming to KNOW what my wife would feel."

Warren and Hank exchanged helpless stares. The former bit his lip with mortification. He hadn't really dwelt in Scott's feelings before judging him. And he should have.

"Perhaps we think that because you're sleeping with another woman shortly after Jean's death." He stated somberly. "Perhaps it suggested to us that you weren't so hurt since you'd healed so fast."

Scott's fury evaporated like dew. "I know that, Warren. I know it's too soon to move on, but..." He felt weary. Very, very weary. "I don't know why I'm doing the things that I do. I don't-"

His voice trailed off abruptly. A hot-melting golden flame had slipped into his mind. Nathan.

"Scott, we have to talk." His son's powerful voice reverberated through his skull.

As Nathan spoke, Scott blanched.

A loud chorus of deafening screams erupted in the hangar.

Scott Summers clenched his jaw. Usually he was patient, controlled. But nowadays his patience was thin and his control brittle. And that mayhem was grating his nerves. He inhaled deeply.

"Would you shut the fuck up?" He shouted in infuriated frustration. Silence. He breathed out, relieved.

Focus. He needed to focus. Wrap his emotions in tiny packages and build a fortress around his heart. Or else his inner turmoil would shatter his sanity like a fragile glass.

His unreadable mask of aloof emotional detachment was again raised.

"Thanks. I'll repeat it again. We " He waved at the group formed by Angel, Beast, Iceman, Havok, Polaris, Storm, Wolverine, Colossus, Nightcrawler, Shadowcat and Marvel Girl "shall fly to Switzerland to see my son. You will stay here and protect the school."

He turned around to stare sternly at Gambit, Rogue, Bishop, Jubilee, Husk, Northstar and other X-men. Remy was exhibiting one of his infuriating smirks.

"Never I'd have imagined you'd put me in charge of something, Summers."

"This is an era for wonders, it seems," Cyclops rebuked dryly. "Try and keep the mansion whole and everybody alive until when we return."

Gambit grinned with smug sarcasm, but he didn't reply with any obnoxious remark. Scott blinked. Had he read a glimpse of comprehension on those red-and-black eyes? And respect?

Rogue sensed his hesitation and stepped forward. "Don't worry, sugar." She beamed reassuringly, wrapping her arm around Gambit's elbow in the process. Her lover smirked. "I can't promise anything bad won't happen, but we won't permit any asshole to harm our kids."

Elation and good mood eased Scott's heart slightly. He smiled weakly.

Meanwhile his team's members were observing him quietly. With weariness, doubt or even concern. But all keeping a respectful silence. Especially Logan.

Scott, he reflected, seemed agitated. Reckless. Uneasy. He was trying very hard to hide it, but his stiff stance, his fidgety movements and the acrid stench of anxiety betrayed him.

Wolverine understood him perfectly.

Finally Scott spun around and strode towards the X-jet. His team was gathered in front of it, waiting for their leader. Just like the old times, he thought. A smile lit up briefly on his lips, only to be replaced swiftly for a grieving expression. The old times were gone long ago; was scurrilous pretending otherwise.

His stare shifted towards the shining, sleek plane. He missed the Blackbird greatly. He had experienced very good moments flying that plane. The X-Jet was easier to fly, cheaper and lighter. But it wasn't the same. It never could be the same. And he longed for his black lady.

He wondered briefly where his compulsion for establishing analogies between planes and women - or between his life and a plane crash - came from and shook his head sadly.

"Let's go," He mumbled softly. That line-up would be tricky to control - too many hotheaded tempers - but he'd selected them carefully. If Nathan had truly run into Je-

Heartache speared his chest. He gulped hard.

Focus. "Board the X-jet now. We have no time to lose."

"That's very obvious." Emma Frost barged into the hangar suddenly. Fury clouded her bluish glare. "Since you haven't bothered in warning the co-headmaster of your unscheduled departure to a new mission and has forced you to rearrange the teams without her knowledge."

"Emma." Scott grimaced. "We weren't operating behind your back. Something has transpired and have forced us to act rash-"

"Scott, shut up." She seethed. "Now I demand to know exactly what is happening."

Alex frowned. He leaned over Wolverine and whispered. "Have you ever seen my brother tolerate someone undermining his authority or questioning his command in front of the team?"

"Never," Logan muttered back. Scott had put up with scornful attitudes more times than he could count -some originated from Logan himself - enduring them with nonchalance or mild anger. However Logan learnt very soon that Scott tolerated disrespect to himself, but Cyclops never permitted disrespect to his command. Which made sense; if they didn't trust their leader they might end up killed. Charles had understood that, and he'd never disagreed publicly with Scott in a hostile way.

Nonetheless Alex was troubled by something else. He'd never seen his brother cowed or scared. Never. And now he was shrinking back from the woman he supposedly loved.

He didn't like it. At all.

What is your trouble, Havok? A voice seethed in his mind. Would you rather a redhead sister-in-law? 

Trying to use Madelyne to taunt me Alex sneered back, his shock concealed with undaunted scorn. His countenance never betrayed his surprise and he didn't even glance at Emma's direction. How predictable 

He knew she could see through his deceit, but he'd be doomed if he showed any weakness.

I wasn't trying to be particularly witty with you, Havok. Now mind your place and step down 

"Your name is Jean Grey."

"Jean Grey," The redheaded woman of sullen stare muttered. The name sounded so... oddly alien on her lips.

She glanced downwards and blew the steaming coffee cup her hands held shakily. A shadow dulled the erstwhile sparkling brightness of her emerald irises.

"You are Jean Grey," Nathan repeated patiently. "You're married to Scott Summers."

"Scott... Summers..." She breathed out. The words felt... warmly familiar on her lips. The very name stirred something within her. Powerful emotions. From love and longing and yearning. But she also could sense black, seething feelings fluttering and brewing into her belly. Grief, rancor, betrayal, hat-

NO!

She shut down her emotions, squashing them down with determination. She couldn't lose the control. She oughtn't to lose the control. She didn't dare lose the control.

She tasted hastily a gulp of her infusion and basked in the heat sliding in her body.

Nathan paused. A glint had flashed on her eyes for one second, piercing the bleak darkness. "My name," he stated finally, "is Nathan Christopher Summers. I'm your son. Sort of."

Her face reflected confusion. "Sort... of?"

A familiar thunder rumbled outside of the cottage, rattling the windows and saving Nathan from a very long-winded, convoluted and embarrassing explanation. "They're already here," he stated.

He rose up and headed hastily for the door. She followed him silently.

The breathtaking, vast scenery of Swiss Alps unfolded around of them; a wintry world of cobalt skies and jagged mountains blanketed with ivory snow. Windstorms swept languidly over the rocky peaks and battered the sheer slopes. Glaciers and blizzards had carved and molded that landscape for hundreds of millennia.

A black shadow was slowly descending in front of Nathan's lodge. The X-jet. The aircraft landed vertically onto the foothill, enveloped in a tiny tempest of snowflakes. The hatch slid open automatically and several glum, mute figures hopped out of the flight's bowels.

Jean felt her heart burning and choking with anxiety as they trekked up the hill. Slowly the group climbed the slope and came close. She saw them, she saw theirs faces tinged with disbelief, amazement, joy or even fear; but her attention was only drawn by a tall man.

He stepped past his teammates and stood in front of her. She felt a complex blend of love and happiness, resentment and pain tearing her apart.

"Jean," he choked out. His heart writhed in his ribcage. A powerful emotion was smothering him.

"S-Scott?" She stammered hoarsely. Her heart thumped violently. Warmth spread into her chest, light banished the darkness.

Time stopped.

"Hold on a minute!" Shouted one voice, breaking the silence.

Jean's breath stopped. A knot strangled her windpipe.

A blonde woman stepped forward.

Jean's eyes widened when she saw that person. Something in her snapped. Something ruptured and bled in her chest, as broken scar tissue of a deep wound.

The woman placed one hand on Scott's shoulder to push him aside.

Jean's eyes narrowed. Dangerously. Red haze colored her vision. Red as searing fire.

That face inflamed burning emotions in her. The sight of her hand touching him cracked the dam enclosing them. And they invaded her like an ocean of liquid flares.

Sadness. Sorrow. Grief.

Disdain. Spite. Contempt.

Fury. Rage. Wrath.

Disgust. Loathing. Hatred.

Hatred. Whispering into her. Filling her. Flooding her. Feeding her. Fueling her. Driving her. Dominating her. Possessing her. Becoming her.

Blazes hissed in her mind, pleading her release. She let go of her control, she let it go; and blistering, hellish fire engulfed her and swallowed her, consuming her humanity in a pyre.

An ear-shattering shriek erupted from her lips as she dissolved in flames and bolted onwards, raising her fist.

Dim awareness returned to Emma slowly. When she came around, her first conscious thought was about the immense hurt of her jaw. She whimpered dully, trying to recollect her last memory.

A blur of fire. Shimmering and burning. Streaking towards her like a shooting star. A harsh fist hitting her jaw. A sickening crunch deafened for an ear-splitting boom.

Eyelids opened with a weak flutter. Ivory light blinded her. She massaged them and opened her eyes again. Her body lay on a foothill, sprawled over the snow. Cable's lodge was...

One mile away.

Jean Grey had sent her across the valley with one single punch. Chilly shivers shook her body and she palpated gingerly over her mouth. Suddenly the pain seemed... trivial.

An orange luminescence outlined the eastern peaks; a radiant, bright light. Like a sunrise. The glowing streak enveloping the snow-capped mountains widened, growing and shifting until becoming a massive, enraged Phoenix towering over the mountains with its wings unfolded. The figure flashed and exploded in a tide of flames that flooded the sky.

If Emma wasn't so frightened and wary, she could have become bewitched with the terrific and enthralling image of the firmament doused in blazes.

Slowly the fire tongues swirled in a vortex and shaped a gigantic fireball. The red-glowing orb descended towards the ground below steadily. Its tendrils coalesced together and solidified in a human shape.

Jean Grey hovered downwards slowly. Her foot soles trod softly on the powdery snow without sinking into it.

Emma narrowed her aqua eyes and observed her foe. Her stance was mute and calm. Her movements stiff and controlled. Her eyes shone eerily. A nimbus of hot flames enfolded her. A glowing whirlwind of molecules swirled around her, stretching and congealing in a tight suit. Dark Phoenix's outfit.

Frost stared at her face and gasped. Those features belonged doubtlessly to Jean Grey. But her face was so darkened and twisted she seemed like another person. A raging, baleful emotion marred her smooth facial traits, making them unrecognizable.

She had never seen Grey like that. Never. She didn't even seem Jean Grey...

Realization flashed in Emma's mind like a wild lightning. In her own memories, in Scott's ones... She had always seen Jean Grey like a human being. The redheaded woman might be furious or anguished, but she gave off constantly that aura of loveliness, of caring, of compassion, of sweetness. Jean Grey burnt with love like a sun glows with light and heat. Ermine

That woman was no longer human. She was embodied revenge. Raw hatred made flesh.

"I ignore why," Dark Phoenix uttered. Her voice was hoarse and glacial; her tone, sinister and soulless. She rose her claw-like hand to eye-level and closed it partially, like if she was grasping something.

Emma sensed a powerful earthquake rocking the ground below her feet. Earth shuddered, writhed, quivered, trembled, wavered and shook before a horrific and thunderous crack split the air. A large shadow covered the snowcaps where both women stood.

She stared upwards. A mountain hovered over her. Terror paralyzed her.

"But I hate you," Dark Phoenix growled. Her fist closed tightly.

A powerful seismic wave struck and shook the peak. With a rumbling, shuddering jerk the mountain collapsed and an avalanche of millions of tons of rock and ice fell upon Earth. Right where the White Queen stood.

Notes: The obscure and little known Warren's parents' story was narrated in Ka-Zar 2 and 3, Marvel Tales 30 and X-Men: Hidden Years 14 and 15; the conversation in the bar uses a fragment of Spectacular Spiderman 197; the X-men and Magneto battled in a volcano's heart in Uncanny X-Men 113 and Scott believed Jean had died.

Have you noticed what a name always is less used by its owner? Or that I think.

What will happen in the next part? Will Emma survive? Can the X-Men defeat an undefeatable foe? And moreover… Marvel Girl versus Dark Phoenix.

To be continued...


	5. Part Five Phoenix Unleashed

Firebird Rising

Author: Jenskott

Summary: Jean Grey is dead. Will Phoenix be able to rise from the ashes again? What will happen if she does it? My own version of the new 'Phoenix Endsong' series.

Notes: I'm sorry for the long delay, but I've been correcting the story over and over -and I'm not satisfied yet-, and besides I was one week away the computer. But thanks for the reviews! Thanks to: Pinkchick –who always puts up patiently with me, Alrischa –glad of you love it-, Slickboy –always a pleasure hearing from you-, Wen1 –I hope Dark Phoenix keeps seeming frightening-, Illmantrim –I try doing my best-, Phoenix83ad –thanks for your comments and I think Jean's fury is well explained in former chapters: she is resented but she refuses hating Scott because that's what Emma wants, so she turns her entire hatred towards Emma; and Jean always loves and hates passionately-, Lili –here's the update- and Summers Groupie –I'm glad of you like my Phoenix stories; it really means a lot to me-. Please, keep sending your kind comments!

This chapter isn't the beta-read version. I have troubles with my account so I haven't been able to post it. I'm sorry; I'll post it as soon as I get it.

I recommend Scott/Jean forum (jott. to all Scott/Jean fans that read this story.

Rating: PG.

Disclaimer: Marvel owns the books. Stan Lee and Jack Kirby are their true parents.

Feedback: To Please, I need reviews! English isn't my primary language, so I need much advice.

Part Five. Phoenix Unleashed-

An alluvium of debris was raining upon her, a torrent of rubble and solidified water with enough power to squash and crush her fragile and puny human frame in a second of unimaginable pain.

Overflowed by a blood-chilling horror, she shut her eyes for a second.

Nothing happened.

Dumbfounded and wary, she opened her eyelids. A gasp escaped from her lips.

Black nothingness surrounded her. Slick, murky shadows floated around her, dulling her senses and suffocating her lungs.

A surge of fright crawled along her spine, draining color from her face. She recognized the setting.

A wall of ethereal, glowing fire circled her. A figure slid through the flames. A gloom, crimson-haired ten-year.

As she walked, her body grew and her face matured, her size and weight increased, her limbs became longer and slimmer and her curls lengthened in a flowing cascade of fire. As she aged, her clothes blurred and shifted in every costume she had ever worn, from her blue-and-yellow uniform to her Dark Phoenix outfit. And her hopeful, innocent face became tainted with abject shadows and scarred with pain.

Emma forced herself to stand her ground. "Why have you crawled back from death, Grey? Were you scared of Scott had gotten over you?" She spat viciously. "You like proving he's fully wrapped around your finger, right? I wonder how long Madelyne needed to realize that."

"Your words are meaningless gusts of empty air." Phoenix rebuked flatly. Her face betrayed no emotion, except for the storm brewing in her pupils. "My memory is a shadow-filled void I can't fathom- and truthfully I don't care now. I know you've hurt me; your actions have earned my hatred. I require no further knowledge."

Emma folded her legs, ready to pounce on the woman. But her body didn't answer. It was paralyzed.

Her enemy flung forward one arm. A crimson flame sprouted from her fingers and slammed Emma into a coal-black wall of glossy darkness. The White Queen moaned, feeling the claw of impious fire crushing and grazing her psionic self with its razor talons.

She couldn't react, struggle, defend, fight. Helpless fear shattered her mask of enraged contempt.

Phoenix saw the dread flashing on her prey's face. Wild, sick glee bubbled in her belly and her face split abruptly in a hard, delightful smirk. A myriad of sensations throbbed and burnt in her body and mind with a fire impossibly hot. A fire flooded her with a delighted thrill, a wicked arousal, a joyous rapture. A rapture of victory achieved and revenge quenched.

She was going to enjoy this.

"Pitiful, selfish creature. Ruled by the very emotions you openly despite. I know what you want. You seek power. Very well, I shall grant your wish. Through my you will know power. Such like no human being has dreamed of."

Her blank eyes shimmered with unholy amber light.

A tempest of embers incinerated Emma's shields to cinders and waves of foreign emotions crashed into her mind. Ache. Suffering. Grief. Loneliness. Rage. Fright. Rejection. Every one belonging to Jean Grey. Her joys and sorrows, her wishes and fears, her passions and frustrations, her loves and hates. Feelings, thoughts and remembrances swarmed in her brain, drowning her.

Phoenix poured brutally into her head each single detail of Jean Grey's life. Every emotion Jean had felt, every memory she had got, every moment she had experienced, every fact she had learnt. The entire knowledge the celestial avatar had stored through her entire life, during all her incarnations was now hers.

Emma sensed her telepathy growing uncontrollably; expanding beyond anything a human being can handle. A deafening mayhem flooded her head, a legion of voices shouting at once in a horrific cacophony. There were so many, billions of them blending in a rumbling thunder, and she felt so tiny and insignificant and she couldn't shut them out and she was losing in them, slipping in them, and she was going crazy, and she was forgetting her own self...

Power like she had never imagined sang in her. Blistering fire simmered in her core, filling her mind with staggering visions. She traveled to the farthest reaches from the cosmos in a blink. She raced the comets and played with the stars. Her fingers touched the infinite. Her eyes contemplated the face, the glory of God. The millions of absolute and contradictory truths and lies of the universe flashed in her mind.

Incapable of bearing it, she fled. Incapable of fleeing, she hid. Incapable of hiding, she screamed. Incapable of screaming, she blacked out. After all she was only a human woman in a human body with the power of a god.

Phoenix listened to her appalling screams of agonizing pain. And chuckled. Obsidian flames burnt in her, fueled for her dark passions. They were twisting her, shattering her, blackening her. Darkness sullied her soul, and only a tiny speck of shining light endured, like a beautiful blossom strangled by black weeds.

The flower withered, folded on itself and wilted.

Dark Phoenix arched back her head and cackled. Her laughter shook Astral Plane like a thunder.

Dark Phoenix perused the pile of boulders, her eyes reflecting a weird mixture of wicked glee and abhorrent grief. She clicked her fingers. Gigantic rocks disintegrated and the huge mountain materialized -whole again- on its foundations, towering and prideful.

Dark Phoenix contemplated the snow-capped peak in deep silence. Insanity glowed on her eyes. A wild joy and exhilaration thumped and boiled within her chest. Her power was vast, unimaginable, limitless. It provoked in her an unexplainable rapture, a thirst, a hunger. She craved for it. The need consumed her.

Her lewd leer drifted towards the woman had been buried underneath the avalanche of debris. Her mind was a blank void. Her body, encased in a gleaming crust of diamond, rested motionless on the cold soil. Only the shuddering rise and lower of her chest showed she was still alive.

She was still alive just because Phoenix refused killing her quickly.

That woman had defied her choler. She had brought her pain. She had ignited her hatred. Her unforgivable offenses, her petty revenge had unconsciously unleashed her power again in a defenseless cosmos. She had to pay. First with her soul; now with her mortal shell.

Emma Frost's body was lifted from the floor and hovered silently as Dark Phoenix built up her power. Sunlight flashed around of her clenched fists and she prepared for pulverizing her atoms.

Crimson blasts burst suddenly around her, drilling craters on the frozen land. She turned around.

A crowd of people was approaching to her, dashing uphill or gliding on the glacial air to land gingerly on the battered slope. A weird quiver shook her while she perused theirs features. They... disturbed her.

A tall, brown-haired man walked ahead the group and pleaded. "Jean! Don't do it! Please!"

His face, his voice was painfully familiar. They cracked a chink in her armor of bleak obscurity. And a surge of forgotten sentiments fluttered in her. She remembered having sought him, thinking he could save her, heal her, fulfill her. But it was too late now. For her. For them. For everything.

Dark Phoenix felt her heart bleeding with charring pain. And she wept. Because she knew what was going to happen. And she couldn't stop it.

Hope and resignation, love and hatred, passion and pain dueled within her like snapping dogs. It hurt her with the strongest ache she could imagine. Thus she lashed out.

"Jean! Don't do it!" He screamed.

Dark Phoenix's expression darkened somberly. She raised a hand. His golden visor was abruptly yanked from his face and flew to her open palm. Scott instantly shut his eyes, feeling his optic blasts thrusting against the barrier of his eyelids.

Her fist crushed the gadget as a telekinetic jab in Scott's midsection sent him sprawling on the snow.

The X-Men gawked at the scene, silenced by horror. Storm struggled against her panic as she scrutinized that woman, searching desperately for her best friend in those eyes of inhumane aloofness. And she cried, not finding her. And another witness of Phoenix's tragedy bolted forward, without waiting for orders. If he was lucky, he pondered, he'd divert her attention from Cyclops. And if he was EXTREMELY lucky, he'd knock her out and they'd save her from herself.

Colossus lunged at the woman, throwing a terrible punch capable of demolishing a mountain.

The brutal sonic wave of the hit reverberated through the large valley.

Dark Phoenix didn't even stagger. The redhead woman glared at him -her momentary weakness vanished- and stared mutely downwards.

Suddenly Piotr sensed the tough ground turning gelatinous like quicksand and dissolving beneath his boots. He yelled before his heavy metallic body sank rapidly into the soil, swallowed in bowels of stone.

"Peter!" Kitty Pryde squealed and dashed forward, but a firm hand grasped her arm.

She peeked backwards to see Havok glaring sternly. "Drake and I will draw her attention. Hurry up!"

Shadowcat nodded briskly and turning intangible dove in the solid rock. Alex glanced at Bobby.

"Come on, Iceman. Let's take her down." Bobby shook his head in disbelief, but he didn't sneer. He knew Alex wasn't such crazy to believe his own words.

He focused. Arctic coldness rose around him. Billows of thick mist obscured his shape and humidity crystallized around his body, hardening in snowflakes. His fists shimmered with cobalt brightness and he flung them forward, unleashing a blast of icy energy.

Dark Phoenix stared unemotionally at the glacier stream flowing towards her. The frozen gale dissolved in vapor of water barely it touched her burning-hot skin.

She glared at Iceman. He wouldn't attack her again.

Bobby felt something crawling into him. Sudden and immense pain stabbed and slashed his entrails, like claws shredding him internally. His body writhed with feverish tremors, and a cobweb of cracks fractured his frozen skin. Finally his coat of ice burst in glassy fragments of blue shards, revealing flesh underneath.

He screamed and collapsed, fainted, over the snow.

Alex gasped, stunned of seeing Bobby again human. He discarded swiftly the thought and powered up his cosmic energies when a reflection stopped him. His blasts were stellar plasma converted in thermal waves. And Dark Phoenix fed with stars...

"Therefore your power would strengthen me." The woman uttered brusquely. She raised her palm to face level.

Alex was abruptly hauled in the air. Energy throbbed in him and flowed along his limbs and at his hands. His body blazed before his fists launched hot-melting heat waves towards Dark Phoenix. She absorbed greedily the tasty morsel, draining him dry from energy, and tossed him scornfully on the ground.

An ugly smirk darkened her features.

Lorna watched Alex lying limply and released a bloodcurdling cry of pain. Then she threw at Dark Phoenix an incensed glare full of acid poison. "Bitch! If you've harmed him, I swear I'll kill you!"

Cobalt electricity crackled along her frame, from her hair to her fingertips, and a greyish-blue halo shrouded her. Polaris floated upwards and invoked the same power had catapulted an island out of the planet, now fueled by a despaired anguish and bleeding choler clutching her.

The valley shuddered, shaken and rocked by an earth-cracking quake. A thunderous boom split the air and a whole mountain was ripped from its bedrock, lifted airborne and hurled at Dark Phoenix.

"Surely you must be jesting." Dark Phoenix stated evenly, not cowed at all. With a flicker of thought she froze in mid-air the unimaginably weighty projectile. Lorna gaped, amazed and incredulous.

Dark Phoenix grinned viciously as her magnified telekinesis crumbled the mount to rubble and hurled the millions of sharp boulders towards Lorna. The green-haired woman grimaced with horror and tried erecting a flimsy screen to repel the lethal hailstorm.

A burst of purple smog swallowed Lorna and disappeared. The barrage of shrapnel sliced through empty air and dropped harmlessly at the bottom of the valley.

A split-second later Nightcrawler materialized on the ground, his arms draped firmly round Dane. His teammates approached him hurriedly, Kitty and Piotr phasing out of the land, Warren carrying an unconscious Bobby in his arms and Alex limping laboriously towards them.

"For a several hairs' width." Kurt quipped. Nothing could ruin his good mood.

"This isn't time to joke, Wagner!" Warren yelled. He glanced at the redhead, her expression stern and impassive after her impressive displays of power. "This is pointless. She's playing with us."

"It doesn't matter!" Havok spat weakly. He leaned on Beast, wheezing roughly as his body replenished his energy absorbing cosmic plasma. His pupils wandered briefly over Polaris, flashed momentarily with pain and hardened with a glint of steel. "We have to defeat her, not matter what. Kurt! Try taking her by surprise!"

The blue-furred mutant teleported behind Dark Phoenix and wrapped tightly his arms around her waist. Instantly tongues of liquid fire erupted from her body, engulfing him. He let her go with a howl and dropped on a puddle of melt snow. The boiling water put off his singed fur.

Dark Phoenix sneered cruelly and took off in a burst of light. Cosmic blazes sprouted from her, the Phoenix effect enfolding her as she soared upwards. With an unearthly shriek the enormous raptor spread giant wings of fire. And its looming figure filled the sky.

She hovered in the core of the maelstrom, supreme ruler of everything she saw. Her face was smug but serene. Her face lied. Blazes danced and leapt wildly within her. A passion -sweet and painful at once- transcended human mind's boundaries fueled them.

She was Dark Phoenix. She held the universe's fate in her hands. Nothing could stop her. Certainly not the ants prowled the valley beneath her feet. She could read their innermost thoughts. They intended assailing her, combating her, stripping her from her power or slaying her. She wouldn't brook it.

She clenched firmly her hands. A dull glow pulsated on them. The light intensified in a blinding shimmer, and the blazes flowed at it. Her fists drew and absorbed the red twister of telekinetic fire as the air around her vibrated and sizzled. Then she linked her fists and shot a massive spear of glowing energy.

The pillar of psionic power struck the steer hillside, unchaining a violent quake as it drilled miles of hard stone in a few seconds.

Hot magma, Earth's red blood, erupted from the rift. An unstoppable stream from molten rock gushed from the open wound and slid slowly down the mountain. And towards the X-Men.

"Oh, stars and garters." Beast stammered. "I had only seen Thor performing something like that."

Polaris raised her arms. A sparkling energy barrier parted the air, stopping the flood. The lava crashed silently in the dike and accumulated around it, like a river blocked by a dam. The translucent shield trembled, dangerously strained for a wall of rock liquid.

Dark Phoenix sniggered. She could read and taste that woman's emotions: Exhaustion. Resolve. Anger. Frustration. Regret... That feeling was particularly funny. She rued having wasted her energies in an impulsive and rash rage fit.

Of sudden she was startled by a flaring thought -forged with bravery and resolution; warm and light sentiments confused her- irradiated from the windrider. The dark woman invoked the elements and molded a hurricane lifted her upwards. She navigated easily over the winds and met her, face-to-face, in the sky.

"In the name of the love we share... Let us help you! Please, Jean, for pity's sake!"

"Ask not for pity from Dark Phoenix." Her voice stated flatly. "There is none in her."

Unfathomable grief ravaged her gorgeous face. "Understood."

A glossy cloud glazed her azure eyes.

Dark billows gathered in the horizon. Swift, roaring hurricanes arose and stormed the valley with violence. Thick masses of ebony clouds rolled along the sky, draping over it an immense raven canvas crackled with inner fires. Blizzards and hailstorms whipped the mountains and dense rain pounded mercilessly on Earth. Flashes of electricity illuminated the glum blackness and ominous thunders burst with terrible rage.

Storm stretched her arms upwards. Forks of amber lightning streaked along the tempest clouds, merged in a gigantic vortex of electricity and spilled theirs power in her body. A huge sphere of glowing electricity surrounded her and an ecstasy mesmerized her briefly. She basked in the immeasurable force she tamed, in the stinging touch of the sparks, in the ear-shattering rumble of the thunders, in the stench of the burnt ozone. Then the god-like rapture faded, the humanity returned... and she struck.

Storm arched back her fist, channeling the entire power in it, and unleashed a massive and dazzling thunderbolt capable of obliterating the whole mountain range.

Dark Phoenix watched the stream of energy zigzagging towards her with nonchalance. Her fist smashed the blast swiftly and abruptly, shattering it. The bolt exploded in thousands of electric spears, and the X-Men were stricken for the lightning storm.

With a silent burst the protector shield faded in flickering sparks and the roaring sea of flames rushed downhill, spilling everywhere, swallowing all in its path of devastation... and burying the mutants.

Dark Phoenix landed softly on the boiling river. Her telekinesis sealed off-handily the gap in Earth's crust and her body absorbed swiftly the heat of the bubbling magma, transforming the lava into tough rock.

Thick, sticky steam rose from the ground, fogging the barren terrain. She stared at the surface of black slag and narrowed her eyes. The bedrock cracked and several telekinetic bubbles emerged from the rifts. Every mutant lay into one psionic cocoon.

Angel came around slowly, and spotted her. His blue eyes gazed at her green pupils, trying desperately reaching her. "Jean, please... If there is anything human remaining within you..."

"There isn't." She replied frostily. "Your appeal has been heard... and denied. And now it's time to carry out the sentence. Any last thoughts?"

Dark Phoenix gathered the entire group into one single telekinetic sphere and hit them a hundred different ways at once.

For a moment, her goddess-masque slipped... and her face shattered with a grief that transcended thought. But the moment passed, the humanity faded... and only Dark Phoenix remained.

"No one? Good." She smirked, as her eyes observed their wretched hides.

As the battle raged, Nathan and Rachel picked their father from the ground, lifting him to his feet. Rachel held awkwardly Scott's shoulder as she fumbled clumsily in his uniform's pocket. Gingerly she took out one pair of red sunglasses and slipped it over his nosebridge.

Scott adjusted his shades and opened cautiously his eyes. He contemplated Ororo, hovering above them and blasting tongues of electricity at Phoenix.

He focused in that scene, trying blocking the voice in his head, that faint whisper had grown in a thundering rumble. _Help me._

"Fools!" He scowled. His soft but hoarse voice startled them. "Don't they realize what they're doing? Haven't they learnt anything from the last time?"

Nathan regarded him warily. He'd never seen his father so... determined and so upset at once. "What do you mean?"

"They mustn't fight her." He wheezed out. His voice was ragged, his legs wobbled unsteadily and he needed aid to stand upright. Nevertheless, strength, tenacity and willpower oozed in him. "We can't defeat her..."

"What? But..." Rachel stammered.

"Listen to me, damn it!" He snapped, fury seeping in his words. "We CAN'T defeat her. Don't you remember what happened that time? We can't triumph over her physically. It's like strike an ocean with one sword!"

"What do you suggest then what we do, Slymm?"

_HelpmeHelpmeHelpmeHelpmeHelpmeHelpmehelpmehelpmehelpmehelpmehelpmehelpmehelpmehelpme-_

A deafening explosion alerted them. Nathan stared forward to see waves of molten metal flowing towards them. Swiftly his telekinesis lifted him and his family, letting the blazing river of glowing red magma welled beneath them.

"We have to do something!" Rachel cried. "She's going to kill them!"

Not again. She wouldn't bear seeing her friends perishing -again- as she watched, helpless. AGAIN.

"No!" Scott stated firmly. "She shan't do it! If she wished killing us, we would already be dead! She's only defended from our attacks so far!"

Nathan narrowed his eyes. "What are you planning, Scott?"

_HELP ME, SCOTT!_

Scott didn't talk. He lowered his mindshields, allowing them a brief peek. Both siblings exchanged startled looks, colored by alarm and deep worry.

"Slymm" Cable breathed roughly. "Are you crazy? She can kill you!"

Scott's expression hardened with bleak stubbornness. Stubbornness chilled Nathan to the bone.

"So what?" Scott saw his son's stare of horrified shock and sighed. "Look, Nathan. I've always believed in taking responsibility for my actions. So I taught you and I'd bet my counterpart taught it to your sister as well. And it's past time of practicing what I preach."

Rachel gasped, staring at the man she had called father -wondering if she'd get to know him truly sometime- and at the woman could be her mother, prisoner in madness' clutches. Scott was right. There only was one chance to save everyone. Moistness clouded her vision and she made up her mind.

Marvel Girl sprinted swiftly towards Dark Phoenix, rearing her fist. Her arm fired a sizzling bolt of telekinesis between her and the mutants, disrupting violently the power flux. The X-Men landed gracelessly onto the dried lava, and Summers felt a smile quivering in her lips.

Dark Phoenix swiveled her attention at her, and Rachel's smile vanished. Her green stare bored in her, piercing her, stripping her, and the young telekinetic shuddered. The baleful evil smoldering in those eyes felt... so wrong. The sight ached in her.

"Do you wish battling me, child?"

Rachel banished the panic flooding her and stared back unflinchingly. "I wish not, mom. But you don't give me another option. I can't allow you going through with this."

She arched her red eyebrows. Still her face was bereft of emotion and Rachel couldn't decide if she was thrilled, amused or merely annoyed. "I sense your power. You are no match for me, but you can be a worthy challenge. If you wish stopping me... you are most welcome to try."

Flames swallowed Dark Phoenix and she darted at the stormclouds. Orange power flared around Rachel, lengthening in fire wings, and she soared upwards swiftly. She grimaced, dwelling in the irony of that battle. Marvel Girl against Dark Phoenix.

Her mother was waiting in the sky for her, a smile perking up her lips. Her right hand snapped her fingers together and fired a volley of energy spikes in rapid succession.

Summers glided deftly among the flaring spears tearing the air, streaked towards Dark Phoenix and stored her whole telekinetic power in one single, brutal, fierce punch.

The kinetic cloak shielding Dark Phoenix wavered tremulously, but it didn't shatter or dissolve. Rachel blinked, aghast, and Dark Phoenix grinned mockingly.

The next thing Rachel knew, a telekinetic bolt smashed her, and the jarring impact hurled her towards the land below with a deadly speed. Marvel Girl grunted and twisted her body, altering telekinetically her fall. She dove downwards, skimmed over the ground and flew upwards. Using her fall's momentum to gain speed, she positioned behind the older psychic and her mind hurled an assassin bolt of sizzling energy.

Dark Phoenix actually staggered in midair. Yet she didn't fall down. Gradually the woman spun around. She glared at Rachel, and new rage swirled in her shadowed eyes.

Both women unleashed at once two swift telepathic blasts. Both attacks met midway in the air, entangled and cancelled at each other. Mother and daughter frowned. Slowly their bodies glowed with crimson brightness as they powered up their psionic powers.

They bolted wordlessly at each other.

Sky rumbled and ground cracked. Air quaked violently with the impact and mountains crumbled down. The overcast firmament flared with two fearsome raptors dueling passionately, parrying each hit, each thrust, each feint. Their power was awesome and terrific.

However as the battle progressed, Rachel realized she was losing. The fight was wearing her energies down whereas Dark Phoenix hardly displayed fatigue. She needed her full strength to even scratch her adversary's defenses whereas Phoenix's weaker blows strained dangerously her shields.

Rachel stifled a cry when a dazzling bolt shattered her telekinetic shield. As she dodged it banking sideways, an idea floated in her mind. It was crazy, but... She wiped the sweat droplets drenching her clammy forehead and readied herself.

Dark Phoenix cupped together her hands, psionic fire crackling and pouring from them, and unleashed a wide arc of power. If the attack connected, it would incinerate her enemy in all levels, physical and psychical. Rachel gulped, praying for her trick worked.

She lowered her shields fully. Cosmic flares bathed her; but instead of searing her flesh and scalding her bones, filtered into her, filling her with nearly infinite energy. A burning, powerful fire ripped apart her body, too fragile to bear that kind of power. Rachel moaned, and crossing her arms, released it abruptly.

A giant shockwave swept the sky and slammed brutally Dark Phoenix. Her mass plummeted dangerously fast downwards, but she slowed down her descent with her telekinesis, rotated her body airborne and landed on her feet. Her legs wobbled unsteadily, nonetheless. The blast had dazed her.

A yellow blur -Logan- tackled her to the ground, seizing firmly her wrists.

One second later he crashed headfirst into a rampart of rock. His body plopped down onto the tough ground, glowing with orange embers as his singed skin started regenerating.

Dark Phoenix rose and pinned a baleful glare at Wolverine. The mirth, the mischief and the temper glowed on those emerald pupils had faded, drowned for a seething, quivering ire. She powered up her telepathy to shatter his headblind mind like glass when a puzzling deja vu stopped her. A hazy image floated in her muddy mind, overlapping to the real scenery. Had she seen this earlier?

Cyclops shot a quick glance at his son.

"Now, Nathan!"

For a moment Cable stared regretfully, thoughtfully at his father. Scott was about of encouraging him when he felt fingers probing gently his mind, tugging him from his body and placing him in another.

Darkness. Utter, glorious, thick, pitch-black darkness.

Scott navigated around the mindscape, blind and deaf in that dim blackness. He couldn't see Jean in that intoxicating blackness. He couldn't see her in anywhere. Still he knew how finding his wife.

Tentatively, warily, he sought in his own mind for the long-time dormant link between Jean and him and struck one of the frayed, torn chords.

The whole expanse rumbled with a loud and terrible shout, a roar of unnatural rage slammed Scott.

"HOW DO YOU DARE?"

Scott kneeled down in excruciating hurt. Bright light melted the shadows and tall walls of fire -red and burning- sprouted from the floor, surrounding him. The flames grew and linked above him, shaping a vault.

The curtain of blazes parted. Standing in the gap, a shadow among shadows, was his wife.

"How do you dare to invade my mind, my sanctuary?" She hissed. Hate, fury and pain dripped from her voice and twisted her visage. "You are not welcome here."

Tendrils of blood-red flares coiled around his body menacingly, hissing like venomous vipers.

Scott rose slowly, feeling billows of heat oppressing him. He stared back, concealing and repressing his dread. "I came to talk."

"I won't listen."

"Then kill me... If you can."

Phoenix frowned suddenly. A vague vision gleamed on the flames, weakening her concentration. Taking advantage from her momentary hesitation and confusion, Scott focused.

The setting around them shifted.

Embers. Flames. Blazes. A memory.

_Midnight. A lavish park. Air boiled with fire. Scott Summers and Jean Grey were facing at each other: He, stern like a rock and serene like water; she, fickle like wind and furious like fire._

_"Have you come to fight? I hope so." She grinned malevolently._

_"I came to talk." He stated casually._

_"I won't listen."_

_"Then, kill me. I can't stop you. I won't even try. Be true to your malefic destiny, Phoenix- Kill me... if you can. But if you can't, then ask yourself why? You're Dark Phoenix...power incarnate...no force in existence can stand against you. The X-men have defied you...fought you...yet we live. Why?_

_Doubt crept in her mind for a moment. "You're not worth killing."_

_"That's one answer. But there's another. True you're Dark Phoenix, but you're also still Jean Grey. No matter how hard you try, you can't exorcise that part of yourself it's too fundamental. You can't kill us because you love us, and we you."_

_"Dark Phoenix knows nothing of love."_

_"Oh? For love of the X-men you sacrificed your life. For love of me you resurrected yourself. For love of the whole universe you almost died a second time to save it. Know nothing of love? Jean you are love! Your existence, your very creation springs from love. From the noblest emotions a human can attain. And now you want to deny that. Deny yourself?"_

_"Yes! No. I..." She gazed at him with despair "hunger, Scott...for joy. Rapture beyond all comprehension. That need it is a part of me, too. It... consumes me."_

_"It doesn't have to. Let me help..." He implored._

The figures on the vision glimmered and dissolved in bright fire.

Dark Phoenix stood still, mute, motionless.

More memories assaulted her mind. Confusing her. When her power had been unleashed, her former self had been incinerated in the blistering blazes. Her former life had lost meaning to her. But now...

A tide of forgotten feelings washed over her, puzzling her. An unbearable hotness spread in ripples within her chest. An emotion sped up her heartbeats and fluttered in her belly. Less crushing and burdensome than an ocean of thought, but infinitely warmer. More inward. More sensual.

She craved for it. She moved closer that man and touched gingerly his cheek. He looked back, trying changing his frightful reluctance in serene acceptance. With a reassuring look she softened her touch, dissolved his seamless mental shields and peered into.

A torrent from visions, flashes and glimpses of another life welled up and swirled around her. And every remembrance stirred a memory in her mind, like shards of a mirror reflecting the light. Her heart burnt and tears moistened her eyes. The emotion was so strong, she could drown in it.

So she did. She plunged in the liquid whirlwind of thought that circled her. Both of their minds entwined with each other, merging so fully neither of them seemed exist apart of the another.

Embers. Flames. Blazes.

_Central Park. Two persons strolled along a silent and lonely path. Glittering moonlight and the soothing murmur of the trees stroked them._

_"Never someone adopted me." He muttered, forcing himself to stripe his heart. "The orphanage was the only place I knew... until I ran away. Telling you all of this isn't easy, Jean... I... I love you! I loved you since the very moment I saw you!"_

_She smiled. With infinite happiness. "Me too, Scott. With all my heart."_

_And they kissed._

_A glossy-black jet soaring across Atlantic Ocean. Scott Summers and Jean Grey, locked in passionate embrace in the cockpit, wishing the moment never ended._

_"Jean, you're everything to me - as necessary as the air I breathe. I used to say, 'I love you' without truly understanding what I was talking about. I know now- a little, anyway. Jean, I love you."_

_New Mexico. Sunrays of dusk bathed a lonely butte. Two lovers snuggle at each other, basking in the afterglow of an intense lovemaking._

_"It's weird having your psychokinetic talent hold back my optic blasts."_

_"I wanted to see your face...all of your face." She whispered, a beam warming her expression._

_"Disappointed?"_

_"No. Scott I'd...like to establish a permanent rapport...a psychic bond...between us. Part of me in your head, part of you in mine. I know I'm asking a lot...total sharing, total intimacy, total... trust. I'll understand if you say no."_

_"I say yes." He answered. She touched his forehead, and his minds merged._

_Midnight. Jean Grey lay collapsed on the ground, no longer doused in a firebird's flames. Scott Summers scooped her painstakingly in his arms, calling his name over and over. And thinking._

_"She's so still. I'm not even sure if she's alive. I want her to live...but what if she's still Dark Phoenix? I'll love her just the same. For better, worse, richer, poorer, sickness, health, till death do us part."_

_Green eyes blinked tremulously. "Hi."_

_"H-Hi yourself."_

_"If I didn't know better I'd say those thoughts I just picked up sounded like a proposal." She latched his arms around his neck._

_He lowered his head. "They did, didn't they? Well, what do you say Red?"_

_"I say yes!" They kissed at each other. Knowing all would be right as long as they were together._

_Moon surface. Moondust carpeted the ruins of a barren citadel. Scott Summers was floating on the air, encased in a golden bubble of telekinesis. Jean Grey approached to him. Her face was pale, her expression tormented._

_"I'm scared, Scott. I'm hanging on by my fingernails. I can feel the Phoenix within me, taking over. Part of me...welcomes it." She stared at him, shivering for the inconceivable guilt ravaging her. "You want me to fight? I have. I am...With all my strength. But I can't forget that I killed an entire world -five billion people- as casually, as unthinkingly, as you would crumble a piece of paper. I want no more deaths on my conscience. Your way, I'd have to stay completely in control of myself every second of every day for the rest of my immortal life. Maybe I could do it. But if I slipped, even for an instant, if I...failed...If even one more person died at my hands..."_

_Her voice broke, choked. She placed one hand on his face and her fingers brushed tenderly his cheek. "It's better this way. Quick. Clean. Final. I love you, Scott. A part of me will always be with you."_

_A blast glowed in the darkness and struck her, rendering her in charred, smoking ashes. He felt his heart dying._

_Walls of sterile metal surrounded them everywhere. Scott Summers and Jean Grey sprinted along the maze of tunnels, fleeing from a madman accused them of sins they knew nothing about._

_"If he's a powerful enough telekinetic to keep YOUR teke abilities at bay... What can we do to stop him?"_

_"Only one way to find out, man of mine."_

_"The hard way?"_

_"And if that's the only road to take, there's no one I'd rather have at my side."_

More images of two lifetimes flashed. Her mind explored the rich tapestry, feeling awareness returning to her progressively. Her existence was wholly entangled with that man's, like if they were one.

Though there were foreign memories nestled in his brain. Memories had damaged him badly, awfully. Memories of a Devil.

Embers. Flames. Blazes. A memory.

_Bright cobalt light flooded the atmosphere. Apocalypse stood in the center of the chamber, smug and confident, ready to thief the power of The Twelve and Nate Grey's body, an unholy rite would grant him absolute power over everything. Scott Summers and Jean Grey crawled over the littered floor, beaten but not vanquished. Summers stood up, offered a last love-filled glance to his wife and leapt between them._

_"You've always held us in contempt, Apocalypse! We were your puppets, whose purpose was to serve your grand design. You cut yourself off from your own humanity so long ago... you forgot how truly powerful it makes us. You look pretty impressive trying to imprint yourself on the soul of a boy. Let's see how well you fare- against a man!"_

_Summers pushed X-Man aside, ruining the ascension, defeating Apocalypse, saving the world. But nobody saved him. Apocalypse still needed a host body. And he was right there._

_His black soul, oozing evil and darkness poured into him._

_Scott screamed as a massive tide, large as an ocean and pitch-black as midnight drowned his mind. Nur invaded his body, overwhelming his soul with laughing easiness, and Scott felt tiny, like a bug flattened under the weight of a mountain. Miasma spread everywhere, clawing his mind, smashing and slicing in thousand bleeding pieces his sanity, stabbing his brain with slimy tendrils and rooting in his psyche. Raping him, infecting him, breaking him._

_Five thousand years of memories of bloodshed and war and death and destruction and evil crushed his mind and swayed his sanity. Visions of cities razed, countries burning, bodies -millions of them- rent and mangled, floating in pools of blood. They implanted deeply in his brain until he wasn't certain of which pieces belonged to him and which to Nur. They frightened him. He didn't want nobody saw it, saw what that evil had changed him into. He didn't want his wife saw it. He was now filthy, impure. He'd soil her._

However she saw now. She saw why he had become so distant, so aloof, so withdrawn. And then she saw what he had done with Emma.

Black rage corroded her.

Still she also saw something else. Something her severed psi-link hadn't been able to warn her about. Since the merge she hadn't visited Scott's mind, she hadn't explored the expanses of his skull, she hadn't studied the changes. She hadn't been able to know it until now.

Camouflaged among Nur's dregs, entwined along the tentacles of slippery scum, there were pale-golden threads of thought. Silky and thin, almost imperceptible.

Stealth suggestions filtered in Scott's mind and printed in his thoughts. Doubts and fears disguised amidst the hesitations and anxieties had created Apocalypse. They had changed, twisted, altered something in him. Nur's memories had driven him to turn his back on her, to refuse talk to her, to forget she could understand. But those manipulations had damaged his faith in himself, theirs love, theirs marriage, and ultimately had driven him to betray her.

And she knew who had done it.

That... filthy... fucking...

Black and thick like boiling tar was the hatred menaced with devouring her. But it couldn't extinguish the light flickered again into her. A light made of love, mercy, sorrow. Bottomless grief ached in her heart when she gazed at his wrecked mind.

He shouldn't suffer like that. He shouldn't be damaged by memories weren't his. He shouldn't feel guilty of events he wasn't responsible to start with. He shouldn't pay for someone else's sins. He shouldn't be tarnished for that blackness. That evil shouldn't dwell in him.

It was not fair.

It was so wrong. So utterly wrong. And no longer she would let it go on.

Her self exploded in ivory flares that dissolved the darkness to ashes.

She had rested in blessed darkness for what seemed forever, her sleep not disturbed. Occasionally, faces and visions would disquiet her dreams, and she stirred uneasily in the depths where she lay. Driven by restless curiosity, she drifted upwards, but each time she tried surfacing, dark feelings plunged in the morass. Rage. Sorrow. Loneliness. Hurt. Hate. Betrayal. Frightful emotions panicked her and sent her again to the bottom. She remained curled up in the abyss until a light gleaming on the surface called her.

She rose from the waters and spread her wings. Like she had always done. Like she would always do.

Jean Grey woke up gradually, feeling a deep drowsiness dulling her senses. Her body lay limply on a tough surface, numbed with a biting chill pervaded the air. An irritating ache throbbed in her temples and an intense fatigue and languor overwhelmed her. She felt groggy, like if she had slept for a long, long while.

Slowly she parted her eyelids. Dazzling sun and a gorgeous sky blue greeted her. Silvery clouds darkened it partially, shreds of a violent storm the wind unraveled peacefully.

Feeling whole for first time in a long while, she shifted to a kneeling position on the hot floor. Her eyes perused with weirdness -and fondness- her surroundings.

Her friends and family circled her. They offered a disastrous aspect: bedraggled, battered and bruised. Nevertheless they displayed expressions of relief and elation.

Jean glanced at her suit, bright emerald instead of dark crimson. Then she noticed the flame-haired woman hunkering down beside her, a woman she believed she'd never see alive again. Jean gasped, gawking at that face so similar to hers, except for those vibrating blue irises.

She shut her mouth and stared again at the X-Men, beaming tentatively.

"It seems that I just gave you a fine workout, doesn't it?"

"You can tell that again, darling." Logan chuckled, incapable of stifling the cheerfulness returning to him.

"It doesn't even begin to describe it properly, Red." Hank muttered.

Ororo squatted beside Jean and clasped firmly her hand around her fingers. "I'm very happy of seeing you alive again, dear sister. So, so happy." Wetness glistened on Ororo's eyes, filled with tears of emotion. In those green pupils she had found again her best friend.

Jean released her hand and brushed gently the tears off her face. "We have plentiful time to catch up, Ro." Her lips split in a perky smile and her eyes shifted to the other girl, her daughter in another time. "Rachel. I have around one million of questions to you, but they can wait for now."

She rose from the ground and glanced at her stepson. A motionless figure hung limply in his arms. Jean walked at him, placing one hand on his shoulder as she gazed at his face with adoration.

She smiled. The link, the threads binding together her two souls, was woven again. A hollow void in the half of her brain, the thought space where her husband used to live before Apocalypse, was again filled. And she knew as long as they were together, they could fight anything.

She remembered she needed look after a certain matter.

Revenge gleaming darkly on her eyes, she sat up and looked around for Emma, ready to quench her fury.

But the White Queen was in nowhere to be found.

Notes: The chapter title is a reference to UXM 105, and several lines and some scenes are intentionally taken from Dark Phoenix Saga. It's my way to pay homage to my favorite X-story.

Polaris threw Krakoa -a mutant island- out of the planet in Giant Size X-Men 1. Powered up by Storm, Cyclops and Kaos, she nullified the gravity beneath the island. I think Lorna deserves more credit than she usually gets.

The scenes in Jean's mind are borrowed from: UXM 136; UXM 138; UXM 129; UXM 133; UXM 136; UXM 137; X-Force 17; and finally, XM 97.

If some Emma's fan is disgusted, all I can tell him/her is: wait for next chapters. Yes, she was manipulating Scott in my story, but I haven't said she acted of her own volition. I assure she'll look better at the end. Still I NEEDED exonerate Scott not matter what. I SHAN'T have one of my favorite Marvel characters being an adulterous cheater. I want his responsibility in that crap erased and he and Jean are happily together again.

Besides, I think my theory is rather solid to be official anyway. If Scott was so withdrawn he couldn't rely on his own wife -and he always trusted her-, why would he open to a woman was a former enemy and he barely knows or respects? Needless to say he always took responsibility for his actions and blamed himself when something went wrong; but Morrison's Scott didn't show any guilt and ran off instead of facing what he had done. That wasn't like him at all, and Apocalypse isn't a valid excuse when you hear what Morrison thought of the character. And -surprise, surprise- when he was away Emma, he settled on Jean.

To be continued...


	6. Part Six Hurricane Eye

> > > > >

Firebird Rising

Author: Jenskott

Summary: Jean Grey is dead. Will Phoenix be able to rise from the ashes again? What will happen if she does it? My own version of the new 'Phoenix Endsong' series.  
Notes: I'm sorry for the delay. I hope the chapter makes it worthy. Please, keep on sending reviews! They keep me going on! Thanks all: **Pinkchick** –thanks for your patience-, **Alrischa** –I'm glad of you liked the chapter-, **Lili** –I don't REALLY hate Emma, I simply wants she keeps off and away Scott and Jean; I don't care for her, I care for them-, **Phoenix83ad** –your praisement means much to me-, **Wen1** –I wouldn't tell Phoenix is 'gone'. It isn't so simple, and in this chapter you'll understand why-, **Slickboy444** –Always a pleasure hearing from you, pal!-, **Granny Angel** –I hope you keep liking my fic-, **Summers Groupie** –It does, doesn't it?-, **Lavender Gaia** –Thanks for your kind words, and I hope you update soon as well.  
The last scene can remind of 'Hellfire and Brimstone' fic, by Slickboy and Agent-G. The similarity isn't intended, but the advertisement yes.  
I'm changing the signs I use to separate scenes. I HOPE don't erase them this time.

Rating: PG.  
Disclaimer: Marvel owns the books. Stan Lee and Jack Kirby are their true parents.  
Feedback: To Please, I need reviews! English isn't my primary language, so I need much advice.

> > > > >

Part Six. Hurricane Eye-

Power hummed within her like a song. Energy burnt within her like a fire.

Jean shut up her eyes in deep concentration, gripped resolutely the armrest with firm fingers and tipped her head backwards.

Hot-melting, bright, orangish flames throbbed inside her body and bled through her skin, coalescing in a luminous fireball enveloped her and the contraption where she was sitting. The mainframe surrounding her buzzed and shuddered, strained with the immense power.

She went on giving off energy until boredom crept slowly in her. "Forgive my impatience, Reed, but... Aren't you done yet?"

She opened her eyelids, blinking to adjust her eyesight. The people across the ample room contemplated quietly her shape, doused in fire and shrouded in light and heat. She could read reluctant dread and troubled wariness in them.

Scott was there, restraining his churning emotions underneath a petrified countenance. His artificial stiffness contrasted with nervous, uneasy Warren and Bobby's fidgeting.

A blue-clad man in his late thirties was hunched over a console, scratching his chin thoughtfully as he studied the readouts of a monitor with a serious countenance. Hank stood by his right side, glancing alternatively at her and the computer. He was unsuccessfully trying concealing his helplessness from her.

Barely the X-jet had landed in Westchester, Hank had talked about analysis and tests. She quite expected that, but she didn't expect he asked Dr. Reed Richards, Mr. Fantastic, examining her in Fantastic Four's private lab-room. But he dragged her to New York and Warren, Bobby and Scott had simply followed them.

Scott. She hadn't exchanged yet any word with him. He was glum and emotionless, reminding her eerily of his post-merge behavior. But unlike then, he hovered around her like a silent shadow, like if he was willing reaching her out but he was too frightened to do it. Or like if he was watching her, shielding her from something.

She couldn't decide if it was annoying or welcome.

Reed Richards combed backwards his short and greyish-black locks and peered friendly at her. "Thanks, Jean. That's all. You can sit up."

She exhaled out a sigh of relief and started unfastening the straps latching her body in the uncomfortable seat. "It was about time. It was wearing me down."

Johnny Storm, Human Torch, hovered adrift above them, his frame cloaked in crackling blazes. "My brother-in-law's experiments use to have that effect in his guinea pigs. It's one of the perks of inhabiting a house looks like a Star Wars rip-off-"

A frightful growl erupted abruptly out of the throats of the five X-Men. Startled for that reaction, Johnny Storm eyed them warily. "What? What have I said?"

"Nothing important." Jean Grey-Summers rose, tossing backwards her rich red hair, letting it scattered over her shoulders. "We're suffering the aftereffects of having gone to the cinema to watch-"

Sudden realization dawned in him and he grinned broadly. "The Phantom Menace."

"The greatest blasphemy in Humanity's history." Beast sentenced.

"We emerged out of the theater plotting ways to get George Lucas back for this." Cyclops muttered darkly.

"We're still doing, but there's always some world-menacing mess interfering." Angel added.

"And we hated that dumb, useless bug." Iceman seethed.

"Everyone hates Jar Jar Binks, Bobby." Phoenix huffed as her legs descended down the steps. "It is the true dark side of the force."

Mr. Fantastic coughed meaningfully. "If you're done now, we can see the outputs."

All stares converged in him immediately. "W-what have you found out, Reed?" Jean stammered, with only a hint of despaired fear leaking in her quivering voice.

Everyone in the chamber felt like her. And they waited in strained stillness for Reed's words.

The man caught a clipboard and skimmed over the leaves. Inwardly he was forcing himself to be calm and professional. "We can't know for sure what happened after your death, Jean. We can guess your soul used your powers to manage fabricate other body somehow. We don't know how the process went down, but it was traumatic enough to cause two second-effects. The most evident was your memory loss, and the second..."

Reed paused. Another foreboding silence began.

"What is it?" Scott pressed on.

"Jean's body is being bathed with an unimaginable energy, absorbing it, storing it and releasing it constantly. It's more power what a human body can bear. Her cells are showing a quick and irreversible deterioration, which increases dramatically every time she uses her powers."

"Deterioration? Irreversible?" Scott gasped, utterly aghast. Black and frosty despair was slithering beneath his skin and clutching his heart. No. He couldn't lose her now. Not AGAIN.

He wheezed out laboriously, feeling the air thicker and heavier of sudden.

"His body is simply not prepared to master such power." Reed muttered somberly. He cursed himself for his aloofness, but he needed remained calm. "Her only exit is recreating her own body, cell to cell, using sheer cosmic energy. But even though she be able, that new body will need vast quantities of energy..."

"Like stars." Warren muttered, guessing where this was going to and not liking him at all.

"Then my alternatives are dying or turning in Dark Phoenix." Jean mused eerily, feeling a strong deja vu. Why was she always forced to choose between her survival and universe's?

"Don't worry, Jean." Hank sauntered towards her and patted her back encouragingly. "We'll find one way. I vow you we'll do."

"That is the spirit, Henry." Mr. Fantastic nodded sagely. "Meanwhile, I fear the only option is repressing Jean's powers. It's the only way of slowing down the degenerative process."

He twisted his neck one hundred eighty degrees -starting everybody-, looking at a metallic drawer as his right arm stretched sinuously several feet and retrieved a round device from its bowels.

He offered it to Jean. A Genoshan collar. Phoenix's eyes widened.

Wordlessly she caught the ugly metal band and closed it around her slender neck.

And the minds surrounding her vanished.

> > > > >

The first thing she saw when her awareness came around and she opened her eyes was whiteness. Bright and pure, surrounding her everywhere. For anguished moments she believed Dark Phoenix had slain her in the mountain and she lay entombed in a grave of snow and rock and ice.

Then her eyesight cleared and she recognized the infirmary's ceiling, and noticed the slight weight of the sheet covering her body. Sensitivity flowed slowly in her limbs, and feeling serenest, she shifted lazily in her bed, looking for a comfortable position.

"Are you already awake?"

The familiar voice started Lorna. She glanced awkwardly at her right side to see a blonde man standing by her bedside, patiently sat on one chair as his aqua eyes observed her silently. Alex.

Lorna tried to sit upright, but she felt appallingly exhausted. Ensconcing beneath the covers, she looked uneasily at her former boyfriend. "What... what happened?"

Alex kept thoughtfully quiet. "Scott managed bringing Jean around before she killed every of us. You and other were wounded so we brought you in the infirmary."

"So are we still alive?"

"Yes, we do. And partially thanks to you." Alex smiled thinly. "Thanks for trying defending me when Jean hit me, but attacking her like that wasn't only irrational. It was suicidal. It isn't that I'm not grateful for the change..."

Lorna looked away. The memory of the disastrous wedding floated in both of their minds, an unwelcome remembrance filled them with regrets both would rather forget.

"Perhaps I was trying very tough prove you I belonged you family, Alex Summers." She retorted sourly, her bitterness quelling down her remorse. "How many times have you tried killing Scott and apologized afterwards?"

"Lorna... I..." Summers muttered. He placed a hesitant hand on Polaris' shoulder. The woman wrenched her arm from his grip instantly and edged away him.

"NOT, Alex. Not now. You... simply don't understand what you do me. The effect you have on me." She stated flatly. Her face was unreadable, except for the wetness gleaming on her eyes.

She shut her eyelids, fighting back the sobs. "I broke up with you because I was tired. Tired from your troubles, tired from the lies, tired from the struggle. Fighting for our relationship had worn my strength out, and I didn't believe having something left to replace them. So I dumped you. And God knows I felt relieved. But no so much as I expected. Though I tried very hard not think about it."

"Then you died, or everybody believed so, and I felt... numb. Icy. Like if my heart had dead and I was unable to feel anything. And then I understood I hadn't got over you. I'd never get over you. However part of me -the side could still weep- refused believe you had passed away. I was sure of you were alive in anywhere, not matter what everybody else thought or told. And of course, so it was."

Dane rolled mutely over her back and looked up, avoiding Havok's stare. "When you returned with us I was... overjoyed. I felt something warm in my chest thumping again. I thought this was a new chance, our last chance to make the things right. I proposed you, you accepted, and I couldn't be happier."

Her emerald glare drifted towards him. Straight at her eyes. Green fire burnt in her pupils and Alex shivered. "And then you cancelled the wedding... right when I was walking down the aisle! Seriously, Summers, can you blame me for having snapped?"

Alex tried looking away, averting his eyes from that accuser glare and its heated anger and breaking the charm. But he couldn't. His teeth nibbled fiercely his lower lip. "Lorna, I... I'm sorry. I never intended hurting you. And I'm sorry the things went so awry between us. But I couldn't clear my ideas or my feelings until then."

His hand moved tentatively at Lorna's, bulging under the linen cloth, and placed over it. This time she didn't reject the touch. "I'm sure of we could have worked together. But too many bad things have happened and have ruined our relationship. And now I... don't believe we can return to be one couple."

They looked at each other in silence, remembering ruefully when they lived in New Mexico. Together and happy, away pressures and sacrifices. Away sorrow and hate. Away villains and costumes.

A thud echoed, warning them of a newcomer in the room.

Annie stood in the doorway, holding a bundle of clean sheets. She was staring quietly at them, shock draining color from her face.

"I... came to change the sheets." She stammered at last.

Alex's eyes drifted from her to his hand. Rapidly he let go Lorna's hand like if it was a venomous adder. "R-right. W-well, then I shan't, um, bother you anymore, goodbyeseeyoulater!"

One second later he had crossed the distance separating him from the door, hurtled past Annie and vanished from the room.

The young nurse blinked. "What was all that about?"

Lorna rolled up her eyes and groaned. "A Summers rant preceding a panicked sprint. Evolution's years have endowed Summers men with proper mechanisms to avoid conflict like pest. If you're really bend in dating Alex you should know his paranoias for now."

Annie squinted at Polaris, an ugly emotion throbbing in her heart. She was jealousy from the bond Lorna had with her boyfriend, a bond Annie herself wasn't sure of equaling some day. "I really, really hate you."

"The feeling is mutual."

> > > > >

A gentle breeze swayed the branches of the trees. Swirling wind blew and rustled the leaves, the faint sound mercilessly drowned by the loud rumble of a car.

The vehicle braked in a bend of the sandy path and two persons emerged out of it. Scott and Jean.

"Are you sure of you don't want I drove you to the mansion?" Robert Drake queried from the driver seat.

Jean shook her head in denial. "Thanks for the offer, Bobby, but we'll pass."

Scott nodded.

Bobby bit his lower lip, like if he was pondering heavily something, and nodded slowly. "See you later then."

His foot stomped on the accelerator and the car lurched onwards. As it sped up, Henry's head, square and blue, slid out of one window.

"We'll find a remedy, Jean. I promise you." He vowed before the car swerved around several trees.

And then they were gone.

Husband and wife looked uneasily at each other.

"So."

"So?"

"Do you want walking for a while?" Jean asked. He nodded dumbly.

Both spouses headed for the forest bordering the path and stepped on its threshold. Tall and ancient oaks, elms and beeches spread everywhere, and they navigated silently among them. A green canopy of bright leaves sheltered them from the sky, pierced by sunrays illuminated the shaded and humid jungle. Shrubs and ferns swayed around them, like if they were welcoming them. Of sudden a thorny bramble stirred tremulously in front of them and a bird darted swiftly from the foliage. Light gleamed on its feathers, dyeing them red.

Jean smiled sadly.

Scott, who was contemplating her in silence, wondered ruefully why that awkwardness existed between them, glacial and thick like an ice wall. "How... how are you feeling?" He asked lamely.

She lowered her eyes, suddenly darkened, at the leaf-carpeted ground. "Good. Bad. I don't know." She muttered, staring absent-mindedly at the foliage, rolling and unrolling a red lock of hair around one finger. "Worse than blind or deaf. Usually I could feel the life in this wood, throbbing into each living being. I could sense an eagle flying in the sky, a chipmunk leaping among the branches, a woodpecker drilling a trunk, a mouse running in the grass, a snake slithering among the stones, a mole digging underground... But now? Now I sense nothing, like if the wood was dead. However my senses tell me otherwise so I'm feeling like if I was dead, buried in my grave."

She went quiet, feeling a brusque chill gnawing her bones. She barely remembered anything after her death and she was very grateful for it. Still she remembered an endless nothing enveloping her, a chilling void dulling her senses. She remembered wanting returning, wanting living again, wanting a second chance.

And then that unimaginable sensation of absolute power came. And will and being became one.

Light and heat exploded around her, and her senses returned abruptly with vengeance. Brightness flooded her eyes and sound filled her ears and blazing fire swallowed her self, recreating flesh and bone from ashes and dust.

Because a Phoenix's grave is its nest, and the newborn bird hatches out from an eggshell of flames.

She walked out of the tall and glowing bonfire and stepped unsteadily on the sod. Her knees gave out and she fell on the ground, remaining on her fours as she felt the grass' moistness on her skin, the air swelling her lungs, her heart beating in her ribcage. She rose slowly. Tentatively her hands palpated her head, breasts, belly, arms, legs, fingers. Everything was how it should. She turned around and her eyes wandered over the bowl-shaped crater, charred and blackened, and over the slab.

She read the name and the inscription. SHE WILL ARISE AGAIN.

Horror overwhelmed her. Pain flared in her head and a rush of memories flashed in her mind, invading her, hurting her, flaying her. She blocked the images, she buried them where they couldn't touch her and she flew away, stricken by fright and panic. From then on she had been wandering aimlessly, like an errand specter. She shuddered.

Scott winced, feeling the sharp echo of her emotions leaking in his mind. "But I'm still feeling the link, even though your powers are nullified."

Jean smiled perkily, her first true smile in a while. Her right hand tossed her rich hair over her shoulders, and it glowed like an orange flame "Yes. It seems that my powers are too strong to be denied or the psilink is too sturdy to be broken, except for some extremely traumatic event." She winced. The recent past was a thorny subject between them, a taboo they dodged for unspoken agreement. Quickly she switched subjects. "I'm terrified, Scott. When my powers emerged I was in coma for three years. Then Professor Xavier sealed my telepathy and explained me it wasn't a curse but a wonderful gift. Eventually I learnt to use it, and I found out I could read the hearts and the souls of the people. Then I thought he was right and they were a marvelous skill. But when I dwell on it, my powers have only brought suffering and death to me or someone else. Scott, how can they be a gift if they only spawn hurt? How can they be a gift if they're killing me?"

Scott wished having the answer. "We'll find one way, Jean. Hank will find one solution. And" he tried his bitterness didn't taint his voice "we can also call the Professor. Perhaps he can return from Genosha and figure out anything."

Suddenly she whirled towards him. "Oh, don't give me that 'Xavier will figure out anything' shit!" She roared, her hair flapping behind her as a flame, her eyes two coals of green fire. "When my powers surfaced he didn't fix anything, only delayed the explosion! When I became Phoenix he didn't figure out anything until it was too late! Magneto was living in the mansion for months and he never figured out Xorn was his worst enemy disguised! I'm not a naive child anymore to believe he can fix it everything! Neither you are!"

She paused, breathing deeply, and went on. "Reed Richards said I can live weeks. Months, if I'm extremely lucky. I know as well as you how brilliant and smart Hank is, but... He took years to find the cure to the Legacy virus, and he only accomplished it thanks to Moira's help. Do you think he's capable of finding a cure to cellular degeneration in few months?"

Scott kept his silence. Inwardly he reflected. He wouldn't bear losing her again. He couldn't endure another soul-shattering loss, the feeling of his being torn in half, of his heart carved cruelly from his chest. He couldn't watch her living and dying and living and dying in an infinite cycle. But drifting apart from her had only brought them grief and tears and heartache. No, his only option was...

"What? What was that?" Screamed Jean of sudden, her eyes bulging out of the sockets.

Scott gulped. He hadn't leaked that through the link, had he? No, he hadn't done. She'd execute him right away, so he hadn't done it and she hadn't heard him...

Jean clenched her fists, lunged at him, grasped roughly his jacket's lapels and slammed his back on a tree. Green fire of fury blazed in her pupils like two glowing torches. Scott cringed.

"Scott Summers" She hissed with deadly seriousness "I know what you think about sappy stories. I read your report about 'Romeo and Juliet' in Lit class. And, God help me, if you pull some crap like that on me... Promise me you'll never make anything so stupid! Promise me!"

"I" He stammered weakly. "I can't, Jean. I can't. Please, don't ask me that."

"Promise it!" She roared.

But he didn't answer. She was hot, burning like a flame, exuding a light and warmth drew him like a moth. He could feel her smooth body leaning on him and his heated and ragged breath brushing his nose. He could see her flaming eyes and her glossy lips. Suddenly he remembered her taste: sweet cherries.

"I've said-mmph!" Jean's furious speech was muffled when Scott's lips touched her own. Instantly she replied and their lips merged in a kiss. Long. Hard. Passionate. Wet.

Slowly their mouths parted, panting roughly and laboriously. A string of glistening saliva hung between them before breaking.

Scott stared at Jean through a red steam glazing over his eyes and felt arousal boiling in his blood. However his lust was doused by a deep shame. He had driven her away when he felt awful, and now he was more stable mentally he wanted her back. What kind of man he was, acting like if he hadn't hurt her, like if nothing wrong had happened? Guilt and self-loathing dripped in him, corroding his soul.

"I-I'm sorry, Jean. I-" A finger on his lips cut his sentence.

"Scott, shut up." Jean breathed roughly, placing her smooth hands on his cheeks. She inhaled deeply, smelling his pungent scent, and kissed him. Ravenously.

Scott kissed back. His tongue slid between her swollen lips and explored her mouth, checking her taste. She moaned loudly, fueling the fire roaring in him. A soft and intoxicating musk tingled in his nostrils, driving him crazy.

He flipped her over, leaning her on the trunk, and his hands began to roam up and down her supple, curve body. Jean groaned hoarsely, feeling old sensations aroused in her and her limbs wrapped tightly around Scott. Theirs bodies grinded together in frenzy, dancing at unison.

Pain, anguish, loneliness were momentarily forgotten by both lovers.

> > > > >

"How are you doing it today, chere?"

Rogue glared at the grinning man leaned on the jamb of the kitchen's door, and kept pouring warm chamomile tea in her mug. Ignoring stubbornly Gambit, she walked towards the table and sat down like she had planned.

Remy LeBeau stepped in the kitchen. "You look tired, Rogue. Have you been busy of late?"

Rogue frowned, but she felt too worn to remain angry. Fatigue triumphed over irritation and she sighed. "Today was my turn to cook. You know, cook for the children, the grownups and the injured. And since several of my helpers are in the infirmary and the rest chickened out, I've been hours in the kitchen. And above all Annie pestered me about healthy dosage and right proportion of nutritional values-"

She shivered and sipped her bubbling infusion. The warm liquid soothed her and she let out a sigh of relief.

Two smooth hands leaned suddenly on her waist and rubbed up and down her sides. "You know" Gambit purred huskily "Remy can think of some ways to ease your tension, chere."

"Yes, right." Rogue sneered quietly, blood burning on her cheeks. The gentle stroke was electrifying. Ignoring the sparks running along her skin, she slapped his right hand. "Keep your hands off me, Cajun."

Gambit chuckled and bent over. "Come on, chere. You know you want Remy."

Rogue paused. Slowly a smile curved her red lips. "And which would be the point of giving you it easily, Swamp Rat?" She drawled.

She guzzled her drink and rose, turning around to face Gambit. "You love the hunt, the chase. You're a thief and love the challenge of grasping a slippery treasure."

Her gloved forefinger traced the rim of her thin lips and she grinned lecherously. The nonplussed stare she elicited from him widened her grin. "Admit it. I was the ultimate challenge, the unattainable score, the greatest prize. That was the only reason of you noticed me to begin with."

She leaned over him. Remy gulped, of sudden very aware of her soft breasts pressing over his flat thorax, her thigh kneading mischievously his groin, her hoarse breath blowing on his ear.

"Do you know what I want, Cajun? I want playing a little game." She purred warmly in his earlobe. Gambit shuddered, wanting her badly. "Catch me if you can!"

Of sudden she was gone. Gambit blinked, like if he had just snapped out of a daze, and looked towards the door. She was on the threshold, blowing a raspberry to him before slamming shut door.

He blinked, stunned. "What woman." And he ran behind her.

Rogue dashed off the kitchen giggling maniacally, trotted upstairs, bolted towards her bedroom and slipped into. Her hand caught hurriedly the doorknob and pushed it. But the door was shoved brusquely inwards.

Gambit showed up between the jambs, wheezing out roughly. "You can't escape from Remy so easily, chere. You should know better."

He stepped forward. Rogue stepped back, one step for each Remy's one. Eventually her shins bumped in the bed and she dropped over the wooly quilt.

She remained sprawled over the blankets as stared at the brown-haired man of handsome features, hypnotizing eyes and charming smile. She batted her eyelashes playfully and folded sensually her long legs. "I warn you. If you try touching me, I'll scream."

"You will do." Remy foretold firmly.

The door was shut.

> > > > >

The colors and sounds of the virgin forest wrapped them in a gorgeous display from lights and shadows, but they didn't notice it. Heat enveloped them like a blanket, steamy and sticky, crawling beneath their clothes and caressing their bodies with a blessed sensation. A glorious warmth thawed, melted and washed away the frostbite had frozen them.

He was crushing her between his hard torso and the moss-carpeted bark of the gnarled oak, wheezing roughly as his fingers fumbled with her blouse. She was kissing him hungrily, draping her arms and legs around his neck and hips, breaking the kiss to cry every time his skillful hands roamed anxiously over her forbidden regions.

"It's amazing." Jean muttered between faltering gasps, and nibbled his collarbone, tracing a wet path from shoulder to ear. "It's like if nothing has changed."

Scott nodded in acknowledgement. "Yes. It feels like if time hasn't passed at all. Like if we were still two teenagers, hiding us from the Professor and our classmates in the wood to make out on any bed of pine needles."

Jean kneaded firmly his taut shoulder plates, cursing the bothersome clothes draping his burning body and stared wistfully at the sky of leaves. "What did we allow happen to us, Scott?"

Scott halted for a moment, frozen by guilt, and lowered his head. What he had allowed happen, rather...

Jean sensed his grief and disentangled herself from him. "It wasn't your fault, Scott-"

"Wasn't it?" He interrupted glumly. "If I hadn't been so driven in brooding and wallowing and I had asked you for help instead of shutting you out... If I had let you see what was the trouble with me instead of refusing your help... If I hadn't been so set on brooding about my burden instead of doing anything about it... Perhaps nothing of this had happened! I should never have allowed this... I should..."

"What-ifs and should-have" Jean spat both words with an infinite contempt. Her hand cupped his chin, forcing him to look straight at her eyes. "Listen to me well, Scott. I can't tell what I've got over it or forgiven or forgotten. But I don't hold you responsible for what happened with Emma before my death. And after it... I don't blame you either."

Her green eyes narrowed to slits. Her hands fell by her sides, and Scott watched how they closed in a clenched fist, her lips thinned firmly and her eyes hardened with grim anger. He sighed. "It wasn't your fault, Jean."

"Wasn't it?" She growled. She had found in his mind other manipulation's remnants. He was going to let the mansion after her death, and that choice would lead to a nightmarish future, without life and without hope. She'd be reborn one hundred fifty years from now in a devastated planet and travel back to change his mind. Knowing she'd been capable of that sickened her deeply. "I forced YOU to stay with Emma out of self-righteousness. I entered in your mind and altered it to further my purposes instead of talking with you. I'll NEVER forgive anybody uses telepathy to manipulate you. Nor Madelyne, nor Betsy, nor Emma. NOBODY!"

"It wasn't even you." He tried reassuring her, knowing her fury was only an outlet to the blame and self-hatred. He... knew how it worked. "It was another you from another timeline."

"Another me but still me. The Jean I could have been." She retorted fiercely, feeling the beginnings of a splitting headache. Perhaps she should be used to them for now, but she really, REALLY hated temporal physics. "I violated your privacy. I swore myself I'd never step on that boundary, but still I did when I got an enough good excuse. And am I supposed to feel relieved because it was done by another firebird never bothered in checking for alternatives?"

"In a nutshell: yes."

The crystalline voice started both spouses, and they turned hurriedly at its direction. An intricate wall of wide leaves and long creepers trembled and rustled. With a last quiver the skeletal branches bent backwards, parting the green drapery, and Rachel Summers strode through the gap, her booted feet crunching tiny pebbles as a thick jacket and trousers shielded from boughs and brambles.

Scott Summers and Jean Grey blushed and leapt away each other instantly. Noticing theirs clothes' aspect, rumpled and disheveled, both blushed and ironed them out quickly.

"Since- since when are you here? And what did you mean?" Jean stuttered meekly as her fingers clasped hastily her blouse's upper buttons. Red dyed her cheeks. Scott was fastening his belt and stretching his loose pants, his expression just as flushed as hers.

"I meant you have to let it go or else you'll go crazy." Rachel replied, ignoring deliberately the first question. Neither her brother nor she wanted really explaining they were watching them. "You remember what I was stranded in the timestream to rescue a team partner, don't you? And you know before you altered this timeline's future for ruining Apocalypse's plans, I landed in thirty-eighth century. And seeing Apocalypse was still alive, undefeated and untouched for the ages or his enemies, I founded Askani Sisterhood to fight him."

They nodded, wondering where she was going at.

Rachel shook her head heavily, overwhelmed for her blame's weight. "All turned out so wrong. I wanted assembling a rebel group, led by noble ideals but it degenerated in a ridiculous religious sect. I wanted helping people, but I only could give them vain hopes. I wanted saving the world, but I could never defeat Apocalypse. I wanted saving my brother from his fate, but I only ensured it at the end. Everything I ever accomplished was blighting lives. And I -Mother Askani- knew it, knew all was useless, but she went on doing it, because she knew if she tried to alter the timeline, she could bring about a disaster. It was her preordained fate, like her or not."

The girl shut her eyes a second, repressing a painful shudder. She inspired deeply and her chest arose, held shakily, and lowered. "She had no choice. And she hated it; she hated her destine, but above all she hated herself. I know because I have her memories. And I know because I am -became- she."

"But you reunited us with Nathan in the future... You returned me my -our- baby." Scott rebuked.

"Only good thing." She stated unemotionally.

"Since we're talking about it" Jean strode forward of sudden "how have you managed returning back in time? We saw you dying. I felt you dying. I saw your soul before it... faded."

The last word had been a choked sob, and Rachel stared at her sadly. "When dad jumped in front of Apocalypse, the timeline shifted completely. I didn't arrive to Askani future because it never existed. I crashed in End's Time and was locked by a psychopath used me to lure Nathan in a trap."

Her voice wavered. Again she had been jailed and slaved, used to hurt people she cared for. It wasn't the first time and it wasn't the last one either. She clenched her fist, at once feeling frustration, fury and sorrow. "Nathan took up the challenge, defeated Gaunt and rescued me. I can't believe yet he did, though..."

Jean perused the girl thoroughly. "You're blaming yourself for what Nathan lived through, aren't you? You hate yourself and therefore you think he should hate you." Rachel flinched. Jean sighed, knowing she was wading through still another Summers guilt trip. "Rachel, you shouldn't feel responsible for it. That wasn't you to start with."

"No." The younger redhead shook her head and stared piercingly at Jean, straight at her verdant eyes. "And you shouldn't blame yourself for your counterpart's actions. That Jean acted harshly because she saw no other choice. Just like my counterpart behaved like that because she saw no other way. Apocalypse had to be destroyed, not matter what. And knowing what has happened... I can't blame her. That bastard has been our family's bane, haunting us in his life and in his death."

Scott's eyebrows arched in surprise. "Are you insinuating what all of this has been his doing?"

"Of course." She answered sternly. "Do you think he would let you live happily ever after his defeat? No. Would Sauron let live happily ever after the hobbit brought about his downfall? No. His evil scarred him permanently."

Jean laughed with little mirth. "Don't exaggerate. Now you'll compare Apocalypse with Sauron because he was a millennia-old evil, dwelt in East, his most fearsome servants were horsemen..." She paused, furrowing her brows in weirdness. Perhaps the analogy wasn't so silly or absurd after all. "Not matter what, you're right, Rachel. I'm sure of Apocalypse has been sitting in Hell, laughing while we drifted apart-"

"-and staring delightfully how we destroyed at each other passionately." Scott growled. "Such waste. We let him win at the end."

"No. Not yet." Rachel Summers smiled before walking towards them. Her arms draped around theirs necks and she pulled them towards herself. "You belong to each other. Just remember it, please."

Nobody said anything for some while time. Then "Thanks."

The whole family shared an embrace, as they prayed for the hardships were finally finished.

Unbeknownst to them, Shadows were swirling and lying in the East.

> > > > >

An icy chill pervaded the room, floating in the atmosphere almost like a physical presence and clinging to the walls and expensive furniture. Sun poured radiant light through the large windowpanes, but not even its glow, warm and nice, succeeded in piercing the cold sensation of gloominess and fear oozed in that place.

A raven-haired man stood up in front of the broad glass, holding a wineglass with his thick fingers. His frame was bulky, tall, with broad shoulders and massive muscles, and was clothed with an eighteenth century dress. The clothes and the furniture of the room were handsome and expensive, but they turned the man even darker and more sinister. A pretty wrapping couldn't hide his heart; cold, tough and black like a shard of obsidian.

His face of unyielding and sharp planes was wrinkled with a frown. His ruthless eyes contemplated harshly the buildings surrounding his skyscraper, but his thoughts were miles far away.

Sebastian Shaw, Hellfire Club's Inner Circle's Black King meditated thoughtfully. The organization he led had been born in England two hundred fifty years ago and had been pulling the strings of the World History since then. Whoever had ever heard from Hellfire Club believed it was an ancient and decadent rich people society, but the reality was its main members, Inner Circle's Lords, wanted ruling the world.

Triumph over his foes and destroy them was like a big chessgame. And now he felt the last movement in a long game was coming. What would King be checkmated?

Behind him a door opened, disturbing his reflection. Shaw didn't turn around, but his shoulders stiffened noticeably. Disgust wrinkled his expression.

"Report, Mastermind."

His visitor growled faintly. "You know I hate being called that-"

"Have you for any chance misheard my order, Wyndgarde?" Shaw grated dangerously. His interloper paused, and when he talked again, a faint but telltale shiver crept in his voice.

"She's again under our custody. Right now she's being dragged in the dungeons. I believe Selene is looking forward to get fun with her."

Shaw's body quivered with an incensed emotion burnt him from within. Rage. Controlled, repressed, but wild and boiling. He spun sideways slowly to watch Jason Wyndgarde. If he was frightened, his face didn't display it. Then again, it was nothing but an unreal illusion.

"When Magneto and his foolish Brotherhood discarded you, I offered you a chance. You promised giving us power beyond belief and I promised paving your way into the Club in exchange. I gave you my trust and my support. And how did you repay me? With failure!"

With an unnatural bellow he clenched his meaty fist abruptly. The thin glass shattered and his fragments fell to the floor in a sparkling rain. Liquor droplets trickled from drenched Shaw's hand and stained the carpet.

Wyndgarde backed down, showing this time his dread in his pale expression. "I-I DIDN'T fail. That bitch did that we intended she did, didn't she? She ruined it all. I DIDN'T."

The Black King glared venomously at Mastermind. He resembled a handsome, tall man with well-groomed and wavy brown hair. But his aspect was a hollow illusion, so deceitful like the caster. Shaw knew the face lay beneath that mask: a short, ugly man with lanky black hair. He knew his true aspect, but Jason insisted in using that mirage in the Club. Perhaps he thought it'd make his folly illusion real. Vain fool.

"Get out of here." Shaw hissed darkly. Mastermind step back, not daring to turn his back.

"Summon the remainder Lords." He growled. Jason's back bumped into the door and he searched the doorknob frantically.

"Now!" The Black King shouted, and he dashed hastily off the room.

Shaw squinted at the door for last time and he turned back at the large window. Incompetent cretins, he thought. Everybody wished his title, but neither of them owned the vision or the temper or the wits.

In his mind he saw a chessboard. The White King had fled the field and had been succeeded by the White Knight. The Enemy Queen had laid siege on him and was about of checkmating when a Red Queen showed up from nowhere, attacked the White Queen and shielded the Knight. That unexpected movement had altered wholly the game.

The X-Men had been a thorn in his side he had endured with patience. He could afford waiting. Until now. Every past battle between Hellfire Club and the X-Men had reached a stalemate because no side could annihilate other without exposing itself. But it had changed now. The X-Men didn't need maintain their secret. They could reveal what they knew about Hellfire Club anytime. And then...

He needed to act. Now. Before they realized. He had to strike them. And destroying them once and for all.

The Black King observed quietly the city. Unbeknownst to him,two ferocious eyes, blazing green with hatred and resentment, spied him from the shadows.

> > > > >

Sun was sinking beyond the skyline, vanishing with an explosion of luminous color. Flares of red, orange, amber, pink and violet streaked the sky, as darkness fell gradually on the country.

Logan stared at the iridescent dusk in melancholic wonder. His husky breathing fogged with steam his room's window. He wiped it absent-mindedly with a finger.

His gaze drifted briefly at the two figures strolled peacefully at the mansion doors. "They're coming now." He muttered pensively.

"Do you think they are fine?" A languid and cautious voice queried behind him.

Wolverine gazed piercingly at the pair, focusing all of his senses on them. He was reading many emotions, even from that distance. Dread. Anguish. Despair. Pain. Regret. Self-loathing. Sadness. And yet... yet...

Elation. Comfort. The first true happiness they had felt in months.

"Yes. I think they'll be fine. And we can always help them."

"True it is." Pause. Logan could sense his interloper mulling over his words. It was enervating. "You know a half of us expected you took advantage from the situation to win Jean over. I know many were astounded of you didn't."

Contemptuously, he snorted. "Yes, right. Hit on the poor married woman when she feels lonely and vulnerable. What kind of man they think I am? Besides, I knew she'd throw herself over Scott in the minute he acted normal again."

He turned around to look at the figure sprawled on his bed. The wooly quilt had been kicked away, and only a thin snowy sheet covered her naked body.

"You realize" She drawled, fluttering lustfully her eyelashes "they would get us committed or slain if they found out."

"Yes. Too bad for them." He grinned.

"True. Too bad."

She beamed blithely and sat on the mattress, allowing the thin sheet slid downwards, uncovering her torso. The perishing sunrays of the sunset danced over her naked skin of the color of the ebony. The sight aroused hunger in Logan. So intense, so burning he was frightened of it.

And of messing the friendship they shared.

They had met when Charles had recruited hastily a new team to rescue the old X-Men, but he had barely noticed her then. He was too busy leering at a woman was always gazing dreamily at another man. Still they had always been very close. He remembered the time they traveled to Asgard to rescue her from Loki. He was badly wounded, poisoned and on the brink of Death but saving Ororo was all he could think of. All he could care for.

Logan remembered as well the first time he had REALLY pissed Scott off. Cyclops had punched him and he had drawn out his claws to slice him, but Ororo had stopped him with a single stare. She had also stopped him when they battled the Brotherhood to save Senator Kelly, had defended him when Angel wanted throwing him out of the X-Men and had trusted him even when he didn't warrant her faith. And the times the team was falling apart, decimated for theirs enemies and unbalanced by shifting alliances, they were who held the X-Men together.

He shuddered remembering the Mutant Massacre and Operation: Zero Tolerance.

The X-Men knew Cyclops and Phoenix were the heart and the soul of the team. But not many noticed the whole responsibility fell back on Storm and him when Scott and Jean were 'deceased', retired or couldn't be relied upon.

Yes. Both of them had lived and shared many things together. And when they kissed the other day in the Danger Room, in front of so many people... It felt so good. Nice. Right.

Still he was frightened of ruining their relationship, trying turning their friendship in something else.

Quietly he crawled under the covers.

> > > > >

Dim light of torches illuminated faintly the dark, dingy passageway of cold stone. Damp slabs reflected the flickering fire burnt in the oil-soaked wood, dispelling the rolling shadows shrouded the underground corridor. Water trickled through cracks in the walls, and the atmosphere reeked from oozing humidity, mildew...

And evil. Evil's stench floated everywhere, pervading the air, lurking in the shadows, sticking to the walls and slithering down the stairs.

As he descended painstakingly the narrow and damp steps, Jason Wyndgarde grinned darkly. The chuckle turned his grim countenance in something even more sinister. Mastermind's thoughts drifted briefly to the businessmen prowled the upper halls, arguing how squander and loot Third World countries as munched pastries and drank tea. And he wondered what they'd tell if they saw Hellfire Club's basements.

With one last step he reached a long gallery. A row of doors filled the walls, watched by armed keepers. Rigid masks hid their features and cloaked their emotions, giving them a fearsome air of robots.

Jason wrinkled his nose and headed resolutely for one of the wooden doors, utterly nonchalant of the guardians. One of them lowered his weapon and looked him up and down.

"Greetings, Lord Wyndgarde. The Black Queen is-"

He cut off the guard's stammer. "I know Selene is already in the dungeon" torturing her victim with methods only someone has lived millennia can know, he guessed. The idea brightened up slightly his bristled mood. "Now open the door."

Mastermind repressed a smirk, nearly seeing the guard wincing beneath the mask as he extricated a heavy iron key out of his pocket and rotated it hurriedly into the lock. Jason pushed the door and sauntered in.

In the center of a domed stone chamber, with the walls smudged with dark congealed blood, stood a sinister woman with flowing raven hair, scantily clad in a skimpy garb of glossy black leather. The tenebrous light of the torches highlighted the leather's ripples, tightly glued to her magnificent curves.

Mastermind felt eager arousal, but he guarded his thoughts and his emotions. He was well aware of Selene was exactly the last person he should get himself involved with.

"I take Lord Shaw has expressed his displeasure with your failure. Am I wrong, Jason?" The woman stated abruptly, not even turning around to regard him.

"I DIDN'T fail." He bristled. "My illusions worked. It wasn't MY fault that redhead bitch returned suddenly from Death and spoiled the plans."

"That has always been your trouble, Mastermind. You underestimate your adversaries. Especially Jean Grey. You can't play with fire without ending up burnt." The Black Queen spun around slowly. Her right hand bore a whip. She lifted it to face level, leered greedily at the blood smearing it, and cleaned it with a wanton flicker from her tongue.

"Moreover, you always resort to the same trick. Confuse the mind of your prey with illusions and hallucinations, and then, when she's teetering on the brink of the madness, to slave her. Pitiful."

Jason pierced her with a quiet glare. "If that's all what you have to tell me, I have a message of Sebastian. He's fed up with the X-Men and wants destroying them once and for all. We'll attack when you're finished."

Selene blinked. Then she grinned lecherously. "Tell him our toy will be again under our control very soon. And unlike someone else I shan't allow the lash slips foolishly off my fingers."

Ignoring Jason's forbidding growl, she whirled around and struck swiftly with her whip. Her victim moaned.

On a tough rack lay sprawled and manacled the White Queen. Torn rags barely covered her wounded body. Rows of crimson scars zigzagged along her skin and crisscrossed at each other, like if a plough had harrowed her hide. Her body was ravaged; her mind in tatters. It had been flayed, slashed and stabbed viciously until she only felt overwhelming pain.

A thought pierced the haze of hurt wrecking Emma's brain. Her cracked lips parted and let out one whispered word.

"Scott..."

> > > > >

No, Alex and Lorna won't get together again in this fic. The number of pairings I can fix is limited, and I'm focusing in Scott and Jean. But I needed writing that scene. I'm trying reconciling the personalities the characters have maintained during forty years with their actions for the last five. And if I'm writing a current continuity-based tale, Scott must be absolved from that ill-minded affair and he must stay with Jean. That is NOT negotiable, now or never. Radical? I call it justified. Morrison wrecked the oldest and most enduring X-Men's history's couple because he opined the marriage was stale and boring and Scott needed a fling to loosen up. And don't get me started with making Scott kissed Emma on Jean's grave. That scene screamed 'Hooray! Now the bitch is dead we're free!". Disgusting.

I know Rogue lost and regained her powers a while back, but I'm ignoring that. I'm somewhat bored from that never-ending subplot, so she's gained control over them somehow in this tale. After all, everybody know if Marvel had wanted, the X-Men would have crafted some device to control her powers -like Cyclops' visor or Havok's suit- long ago.

I don't remember what title has Mastermind in Hellfire Club -if he had ever-, but Shaw was Black King, Emma the White Queen, Leland the Rook and Pierce the White Bishop, so I'll use the Black Knight (even thought 'pawn' would be more proper). Besides, it fits with the metaphor Shaw's metaphor.

The second X-Men were gathered in Giant Size XM 1; The X-Men traveled to Asgard in UXM Annual 9; Scott punched -rather backhanded- Logan in UXM 97; the Brotherhood tried killing Senator Kelly in UXM 142; Ororo stood up for Logan in UXM 148; and Logan and Ororo kissed in UXM 455 in Danger Room, in front of a bunch of mutants (scene made VERY happy and gave me an excuse. Yes, I'm a Lo/Ro worshipper. How did you guess?)

In the next chapter mysteries are revealed and relationships unraveled when Hellfire Club brings its power to bear.

To be continued...


	7. Part Seven And Hellfire Is Their Name

> > > >

Firebird Rising

Author: Jenskott

Summary: Jean Grey is dead. Will Phoenix be able to rise from the ashes again? What will happen if she does it? My own version of the new 'Phoenix Endsong' series.

Notes: I don't know why, but I haven't let me log in for three days, so I haven't been able update sooner this week. Thanks to the ones have reviewed and keep still reading me: **Pinkchick** –My beta reader; in this chapter you'll know where Emma fits in all of this-, **Alrischa** –Thanks! I'm always glad of hearing about you!-, **Phoenix83ad** –I'm truly sorry for not having updated more quickly; thanks for warn me about Jason and you'll see I'm including a character you suggested me-, **Wen1** –I'm looking forward to read your review!-, Ingrid –I feel like you about Emma-, **Strayphoenix** –I'm truly flattered of you like so much my story; please write more of your fic!-, **Slickboy** –Yes, Endsong did nothing to fix the comics; that series was utterly useless, with horrible continuity mistakes and left the things in the same state they were before Jean died, but gutting even more many characters- and **Lavender Gaia** –Thanks, you aren't the only in telling me that, and I'm also enjoying your stories-.

Rating: PG.

Disclaimer: Marvel owns the books. Stan Lee and Jack Kirby are their true parents.

Feedback: To Please, I need reviews! English isn't my primary language, so I need much advice.

> > > >

Part Seven. And Hellfire Is Their Name-

A waning moon hung on the indigo firmament, cloaking the stars with its pale, ashen glow. The glittering light, cold and still comforting, bathed the sky and coated the landscape with an ivory sheen. Trees, bushes, grass glistened with a milky brightness, as rested in a peaceful slumber. Nothing moved; nothing stirred. The place was frozen in a still, peaceful silence.

So much silence felt disturbing. Eerie. Foreboding.

A large lake reflected on its surface -flat and silvery like a mirror- the cloudless sky, the lazy moon, the thick trees growing around the water, and the two persons strolling along the shoreline.

After a quiet, slow walk, they sat down on one slope overlooking the immense pool and ensconced on the humid grass. For a while they remained still in that posture, gazing the crystalline waters and smelling the scents of the forest in the night.

Logan glanced sideways at Ororo. She seemed blissfully happy, contemplating the scenery with a fond smile. Slowly he turned around, placed warily his rough hands on her smooth shoulders and kissed her.

For long seconds they relished on the kiss. Reluctantly he broke it and stared at her eyes.

"I have no freaking idea of what I'm doing." He stated.

"That makes two of us." She replied, her expression actually saddening. Her eyes drifted to her lap, where her hands wrung nervously the folds of her skirt. "Are you certain of you want going through with this, Logan? We were scared and lonely and in need of comfort the first time it happened... There's no reason to try getting something else out of this relationship if you don't want..."

Logan started to protest, but she silenced him with a harsh glance. He kept quiet.

"I'm serious, Logan! I've already got my heart dangling above an abyss. I refuse having gripped it again in a man's clutches doesn't want me but neither lets me go. I won't bear that suffering again. I shan't be strung along again." Before Logan barked angry words of denial, she drilled him with a stern glare, more terrible than one of her tempests. "You still love Jean."

He sighed heavily, letting out his inward regret. "No, I... One piece of me will always love her, but I've given up long ago. I knew I couldn't have her; and I always chase what I can't have. But I faced reality years ago. Nothing would work ever between Jean and me. And it isn't only cause she's much in love with Cyke. We are too similar and too different."

"Uh?" Storm muttered hesitantly, not entirely certain of what he meant.

"She and I are two of one kin: both with one beast inside, both wishing letting it out. In many aspects she's like me: thickheaded, temperamental, irrational, bold. I felt she could look in the beast without feeling fear and find the man underneath. I... loved that." He shook his head wishfully. "I loved her because we share the worst traits, but we have nothing else in common. She's a middle-class American girl in heart, not matter what stuff she has seen or what places has visited. I'm a Canadian man, old enough to be her grandfather, who has been soldier, mercenary, spy and who knows what else, and has got his head screwed over and over."

"I love her and I know she feels attracted, but it isn't enough to build a long-term relationship. The passion would eventually go away, and then... What? She needs control, stability, reliability, things I can't give her."

"But Scott does it. They are like two pieces of a jigsaw: they're different, but fit with each other." Ororo mused thoughtfully. It sounded like... like Logan and herself. "Jean used to tell me they were good for each other precisely because theirs differences. Scott taught her to control her temper and think before acting; she taught him to feel instead of brooding so much."

Her stare drifted at wandering Moon as she pondered quietly about her feelings. Though Logan lowered his eyes to the ground, his mood darkening quickly.

"Right. When I realized it, I stopped being jealous because I understood I had nothing to be jealous about. I woke up. She was a dream, an ideal. Not a real woman. And at the end she was hurt for my fault."

Ororo curled her lips and grimaced uneasily, understanding what he was telling as well as he was silencing.

Logan was a free, honorable man above all. Freedom made him feel like a person. Honor gave him something to cling to when the beast threatened with stripping his mind from his humanity.

And he had permitted En Sabah Nur, the accursed Apocalypse turned him in his horseman. His perfect plan to find out his evil scheme and ruin it went to hell when Nur enslaved him and used to gather the Twelve.

He had been willingly a tyrant's puppet.

He had hurt his friends.

He had betrayed his family.

He would rather be dead.

She knew that terrible time had haunted him. Tormented during sleepless nights. She knew it, she knew how he concealed his pain behind his rough countenance, and despite it she went away with hers X-treme X-Men in a Hunt for Destine's Diaries. She hadn't been there to help him, console him, heal him.

He wasn't the only with regrets.

"You did that you judged right in the time, Logan." She tried to reassure him. "There was simply no way of you could foretell the full scope of the repercussions."

"That's the trouble, Ro." He wailed miserably. "I never think beforehand. I was so... damned arrogant, so stupidly self-assured of I knew where I was getting into, so pathetically certain of that bastard couldn't manipulate me... and I hurt my friends. I hurt Jean. And I wanted being her boyfriend? Hah! Not even I was a good friend."

He was trembling with pain. Ororo stroked his hand, feeling his soft roughness. He gripped her lean fingers tightly, yearning for that reassuring warmth. "I'm tired from chasing ghosts. Very tired. Loving Mariko was different of lusting after Jean. She not only saw the man inside; she loved it and nurtured it. She made me feel like a person. Just like you." Her heart skipped several heartbeats as he talked. "I don't want an ideal to worship or a fantasy to dream about. I want someone REAL, someone I can touch and huge and kiss and won't vanish when I open my eyes. I want... you, Ororo."

The woman who had tamed tempests and rode hurricanes, wielded the power of the lightning in her fists and mastered the elements, squirmed, frightened of the powerful and burning emotion nestled in her chest. A wet brightness glistened on her eyes "Oh, Logan. I'm so happy." She sobbed.

In a short split-second she pounced on him, tackling him on the grass. Before he uttered some noise the black-skinned woman had covered his lips.

Happy Ororo was a force to be reckoned, Logan pondered dizzily as she kissed him ravenously, kneading eagerly his taut pectorals and tugging from the clothes bothering her.

"This moment is so perfect." She breathed hotly.

"You only KNOW some shit is about of spoiling it." He muttered.

The pool's surface wavered tremulously and rings of water rippled from the center to splash the lakeside. Abruptly the waters exploded and a shape, dark and massive, emerged violently out from the depths. Tall, massive waves rose and hammered the green coast, showering both lovers with cold water and surf.

Ororo sighed wearily. "I refuse being surprised or shocked or stunned. It was to be expected."

"I'd be surprised if it hadn't happened." Logan stated among spits of water.

Both observed the gigantic monster had risen from the depths and whose looming shadow shielded them from the moon. A massive humanoid with a metallic hide glinted menacingly under the moonlight. Its body was black and glossy, like a beetle's carapace, and its eyes were two cold pools of yellow light stared unemotionally at them. A sentinel.

Wolverine and Storm wrenched from each other instantly and rolled over the waterlogged terrain before leaping in fighting crouches. Claws slid out theirs sockets and the air hummed with electricity.

"Fast! Keep it busy as I call for help!" Ororo commanded as her suit's molecules rearranged in a sleek costume of leather. A wind lifted her in the air, blowing her jet-black cloak like a vampire's wings and fluttering her wavy, white mane. Mentally she sent a desperate shout to Sage, Rachel, Cable or whatever telepath awake in the mansion.

Meanwhile the sentinel waded ashore, sunk in the water up to its waist. Wolverine raced towards the robot, uttering a bellow of primal fury, reared his arms and slashed furiously the midsection.

His claws hit the metallic skin with a loud clattering and bounced off it.

Logan stood paralyzed in disbelief. As he was gawking, the sentinel lifted his fist and backhanded him contemptuously. Wolverine flew towards the trees like a bullet and his back slammed on an old poplar. Half trunk exploded in splinters and sawdust, and the tree fell, uprooted, noisily on the land.

"Logan!" Storm screamed in terror before aiming a burning, fury-filled glare at the sentinel. Sparks flickered on her right palm with furious crackles and her eyes glowed unnaturally as she built up her elemental power. She whipped her arm towards the robot, releasing a hissing, amber thunderbolt.

The thundering discharge struck the sentinel's frame and died away without damaging it. Storm gawked at the expressionless robot stared at her mutely. As she was hovered stunned and motionless, the humanoid opened its mouth and let loose a sonic blast blew Storm and rendered her unconscious.

Logan was extricating himself out of the pile of leaves and wooden debris scattered over his body, when he saw Ororo falling limply towards the land. Terror chilled his blood. Panic-stricken, he sprang upwards, caught her in midair, and landed with her in arms.

Right when his feet touched the floor, the sentinel's fist hammered brutally the ground. The entire ground shook like a beaten carpet, unbalancing both mutants and bringing them down. Red beams erupted from robot's eyes and drew a circle around of them. Blazes grew and blossomed from it.

Logan stared helplessly at the fire enveloping them, hugging fiercely his lover. However the frantic movement, the sticky heat and the searing glow brought Storm around. Ororo opened her eyes, saw the flames and spread instantly her conscience to the sky. A blanket of clouds gathered and poured a dense curtain of rain over them. But instead of dousing the incredibly hot fire, the water seemed fueling it.

Wolverine and Storm looked dreadfully to the charring fire and to the robot. The sentinel was rising one of its massive legs, planting it on the muddy slope and leaning onwards. It was propelling out of the lake when a red blast pierced through the air and smashed on its chest.

"You have committed a big mistake, sentinel! When you attack one X-Men, you attack everyone!"

Feeling relief flowing in them, both mutants turned to see Cyclops and several X-Men -Marvel Girl, Rogue, Gambit, Angel, Northstar, Shadowcat, Jubilee and Husk- sprinting or flying towards them.

As they approached, the blistering flames extinguished mysteriously.

Meanwhile the sentinel trod on stable ground, and trudged towards them, shaking the ground with each booming step. Cyclops' beam hadn't deterred him; it didn't even dent its armor. The X-Men clustered around the two bruised members and prepared to battle.

"Where is Bishop? And Tessa?" Ororo queried concernedly.

"In Monitor's Room, along with Jean." Scott muttered levelly. Guilty sadness cracked his unreadable mask and he lowered his head. "She insisted on coming along but I talked her out of it."

Storm breathed relieved. "Thanks Goddess. Have you conceived any plan to obliterate that sentinel? Neither of our attacks has affected it so far."

The mutants stared at the robot approaching imperturbably, his mass casting a threatening shadow over them. And they felt frightened. Northstar, though, snorted.

"Please! It's just one sentinel! We can beat up it easily."

Another quake whipped up the lake and several robots exploded out the water. Behind the X-Men the wood trembled of sudden and more sentinels rose amidst the trees.

Jubilee glared at the monolithic robots heading steadily towards them and growled. "A ton of thanks, Beaubier."

Slowly, step after step, the giants circled the mutants. Always quiet, always emotionless, they rose theirs fists. Fire blasts from death erupted from them.

A powerful telekinetic dome flashed around the X-Men, sheltering them from any harm, but the explosion destroyed both the shield and the bolts in a burst of light. Struck by the brutal backlash, Rachel Summers collapsed on the floor. Kitty scooped up the woman on her arms before the humanoids let loose another volley of discharges.

Explosions burst around them, singing the grass, wrecking the ground and throwing rubble everywhere. The X-Men scattered and struck back but no power damaged the sentinels: Cyclops' beams didn't tear them apart, Storm's bolts didn't melt them, Wolverine's claws didn't shred them, Rogue's fists didn't wreck them.

Rachel groaned painfully with the strain of maintaining a defensive shield around her best friend and herself as her telekinesis tried vainly ripping apart the nearest sentinel. She growled in frustration and halted her useless attacks. She didn't believe it. Her telekinesis could snuff suns out but couldn't shred that junk's atoms. It was like if she was trying hitting a void.

Near from them another robot had snatched Logan and was squeezing his body with terrific strength, eliciting pain howls from him. Across them a sentinel's glowing blast had sent Scott sprawling on a crater. The robot lifted his boot up to stamp on her father, but he rolled away automatically, and raised his hand towards his visor.

Unexpectedly he stopped to look to his open palm. Rachel noticed his dumbfounded stare and peered curiously at his hand.

Grass blades were glued on his skin. Fresh blades of verdant grass.

But it was impossible. Scott had fallen on a patch of scorched ground and had cartwheeled over it. His outfit, his hands... should be soiled with hot, black soot.

Everything was clear of sudden.

"The sentinels aren't real!" She screamed. "They're an illusion!"

The X-Men halted momentarily their fights in shock.

Don't you see it? She shouted in theirs heads. She cursed the disbelief she sensed in them. If they didn't believe her, those ghosts would slay them. Logan, think! Your claws are made from adamantium! That sentinel can't be wrought with some stuff tougher! He CAN'T be whole after your swipes!

Logan blinked a moment. Then he shut his eyes and focused, trying going beyond the pain, beyond his senses. Suddenly he was falling freely downwards.

Wolverine twisted his body in midair, rolled around and landed on his feet. The sentinel had vanished. He panted in relief. "It was true. These sentinels are a freaking swindle."

"X-Men, assemble!" Cyclops shouted. Instantly his squad huddled around him, back against back. "How do we fight them then, Scott?" Rogue stammered uneasily.

Storm shook her head. "We don't. We stop the caster. Then these mirages will vanish automatically."

"But who may be casting these illusions?" Jean-Paul Beaubier, the newest X-Man queried.

"There only can be one person. A man who should be dead." Scott grated darkly, his eyes narrowed to slits behind his visor, a flare glowing on the red lens. Mentally he called Rachel. Marvel Girl!

Y-yes?

Can you open a channel between my mind and Logan's?

She nodded mentally.

All right. Wolverine, scan the place with your senses. Look for anything amiss. An area you can't focus on.

Logan nodded physically and sharpened his eyesight, his ears, his nose. He surveyed thoroughly the landscape, ignoring the sentinels, and read each color, each shape, each sound, each scent.

There! Amidst the oaks there was an area where shadows drew weird shapes because light glided oddly; where leaves trembled instead of swaying; where floated the reek of a no-existent smoke. And when he focused on it, the image blurred, like if the space was folded on itself.

The image flashed from Logan to Scott through Rachel. Cyclops spun swiftly at the grove and released a powerful optic blast drilled the darkness and disappeared in the depths of the wood.

A noise echoed.

The robots' shapes wavered, turned translucent and dissipated in the darkness. The patches of singed grass and craters of blackened molten rock vanished, showing the land unscarred.

A sound of footsteps echoed from the foliage. The X-Men crouched in nervous anticipation. The thicket rustled and branches broke off. A shadow slid out the trees. Large, malignant and grinning. The moon lit up his harsh features, distorted by a wicked smile. Sebastian Shaw.

"Splendid, Cyclops. Your aiming is as amazing as always."

Scott almost gasped, puzzled of seeing him. Still he stiffened his expression and masked his emotions. He'd never permit a foe read him. "Where is Mastermind? And what do you want now, Shaw?"

"I want that I've always wanted, Mr. Summers. Absolute, unchallenged power. And the X-Men are a constant source of nuisances to my institution and me. You harbor power; and when I find a power's source I lure it to my side or I destroy it."

As he talked, several figures emerged among the forest's flickering shadows, grinning pompously. Mastermind. Selene. Donald Pierce, ex-leader of the Reavers, the cyborgs had nearly killed Logan long ago. Darkness rolled around them, uncertain of embracing them or retreating.

Warren regarded slowly each Lord and huffed, folding his arms together. "Have you decided look after us finally and this is all the power you bring along? Really, Shaw. Your son planned better stunts."

His long-time friend, Scott, sneered in agreement. "It's true. And you always resort to the same pathetic tricks. How many times have we beaten his illusions?" He pointed at Jason Wyndgarde.

Mastermind burst abruptly into abrupt laughs, dark and unpleasant. "Still the same old Cyclops, I see. Ever the gullible, arrogant teenager who believes himself untouchable and unbeatable." The man took a long, deep drag of his cigarette and leered smugly. "Pathetic fool. You believe you're invincible, but anybody can defeat you and you'd not even find out about it. Your minds are stupidly fragile, you know, they can be played with, changed, smashed. And you'd never figure the culprit. Yes, you are pitifully vulnerable, my conceited little mutants."

"What do you mean?" Scott muttered, hostile and wary at once. There was something in that mischievous, evil laughter didn't bode well for him. Something chilling.

"Allow me explain it, Cyclops." Sebastian interjected of sudden. "When your mentor's twin sister exposed you to the world, you became a trouble. You could now reveal Club's activities without any concern for your secret. It was plainly obvious we had to deal with you, but we weren't capable of it back then. Thus we needed find some method to keep you busy and weaken you at once. The answer came when we found out Emma was working with you."

All hearts stopped. Mastermind grinned malevolently.

"It was easy. Quick. Simple. Amazingly simple. I screwed her head with illusions until she didn't differentiate between reality and fantasy. She was doing everything we wanted and she never figured we were using her."

He arched back his head and guffawed cruelly again. "It was so funny! The bitch always mocked from my power and me. She considered me a joke and threatened me constantly with wiping my mind out of boredom. But at the end I was more powerful! And not only I got revenge from her but Emma served me as well to get revenge from Jean Grey. Arrogant whores. They think they can insult me, beat me and trample me, but they grovel like earthworms when I use my mutation. Those wretches are only worth to get laid."

"Let me get this straight" Cyclops interrupted brusquely. "You manipulated Emma so she manipulated me in turn, hoping it broke the X-Men for breaking up my wife and me, and incidentally achieving personal revenge. Is that all? Have I forgotten anything?"

"No, it sums up everything. You were the pillar where Xavier's dream was built on. Demolished the pillar, the building nearly toppled down." Shaw retorted with an ugly smirk. "Have you anything to tell?"

A slow and threatening thunder, rolling through the sky, replied.

Scott himself didn't answer. He was frighteningly quiet. His body was rigid and motionless; his face was stiff and unreadable. He seemed a statue of stone. It was enervating. Then a terrific red blaze pulsated on his visor, as his muscles clenched tightly and his body quivered with a boiling emotion.

Rage. Overwhelming, burning, murderer. The biggest fury he had felt in years. Choler clouded his reason and dyed his vision with one single shade of red. Blood crimson.

His X-men shared that feeling. A sinister yellow color replaced the natural green of Rachel's eyes as her body emitted a dull red glow and the very air trembled terrifyingly around her. Storm's eyes flared as an aura of bright electricity rose around her and clouds darkened quietly the sky. Logan crouched down, Rogue crackled impatiently her knuckles, Gambit charged one card, Jubilee focused sparks among her fingertips.

Tension polluted the air, tangible and acrid-smelling. Grey clouds overcast the sky and the icy wind whistled and howled, promising an imminent storm.

"Three words." Scott seethed with a voice coldest than a gust of arctic breeze. "Take them down!"

A clamor burst out of X-Men's throats and they lunged simultaneously, channeling force beams, cosmic fire, kinetic power, sky beams, explosive sparks. Abruptly an intense, excruciating pain shattered disdainfully their mental defenses and stabbed theirs minds. They shrieked and collapsed on the floor, or kneeled shakily on the grass.

Rachel blinked away the tears trickling from her eyes and squinted painfully at the Black Queen. "What... have... you... done... us... witch?"

"Me?" Selene fluttered obscenely her black eyelashes with a stare of fake innocence. "Nothing."

She clicked her fingers. Footsteps echoed again in the foliage, and other silhouette emerged out of the wood, white like a specter of mist. Her scarred body swayed like a reed battered by the breeze. Her unblinking eyes were wide open, like blue glass beads, on a face bereft of emotion.

Rachel recognized instantly Emma, but she focused in something only she could detect. Tendrils of psionic energy welled from Emma's forehead, linking her mind with every mutant. Rachel gasped, recognizing the communication channels the woman had established permanently with 'hers' X-Men.

"Don't bother in speaking her, she has no enough mind left to answer, think or even hear." The Black Queen chuckled darkly. "Sebastian wanted sentencing her to death but I convinced him she could still be useful. After all she didn't need find a chink in your mental defenses. You had already allowed her building a backdoor."

A sudden tremor shook the ground. Explosions sounded far away. Many of them.

"W-what is that?" Moaned Wolverine, struggling desperately for standing on his legs.

"Oh, that noise? It must be our soldiers, raiding your house while you are wasting time uselessly out here. They'll slaughter every child you protect and raze the place to dust. And meanwhile, you shall lie agonizing in this field, lured to your demises by a paltry mirage! Pitiful fools!"

Selene cackled loudly, letting horror sank slowly in theirs minds.

"It shall be enough, Selene." Shaw snapped brusquely. "Don't play anymore with them. There still are too many X-Men in the mansion. Kill them already."

Selene pouted plaintively. Reluctantly she nodded at Emma.

The White Queen's expression didn't waver, but a glossy shimmer drifted over her soulless eyes. Her body started pulsating light, pouring and swirling tendrils of psionic energy around her.

Scott propped laboriously on his four limbs and squinted at her. "Emma... don't do this... please..."

Frost paused for a second, like if the voice had stirred a vague feeling in her hollow mind. Then her hesitation faded and she focused her power in her hands. Her fists irradiated white brightness and she fired an assassin blast of flaring telepathy through the psilinks.

A light arc shone in the astral plane of sudden and sliced swiftly the threads linking Emma's mind and the X-men. The blast flowed back at Emma and she collapsed, uttering a piercing yell.

Selene stared at her puppet, a limp heap slumped awkwardly on the floor, and glanced Westwards. A terrible power of wrath and revenge was approaching.

Striding calmly towards them, his body burning in a golden fireball, his fist caressing gingerly his metallic pike, he arrived. Nathan Christopher Charles Summers Dayspring. Cable. The Chosen One, Askani's Son. The Slayer of Apocalypse, scion of a religion born in a dead future, savior of a world and arguably the most powerful mutant ever.

He regarded disdainfully the Club's members. "Did you seriously think it'd be so easy?" Nathan scoffed and glanced at the X-Men grinning. They were slowly coming around and standing up. "Havok suggested me come here as they looked after your soldiers. And Jean suggested me some words..."

"Don't bother. I can guess what she told." A throaty voice grated.

Slowly Scott Summers rose. A migraine throbbed in his temples, his muscles ached and he had accidentally bitten his lip, smearing it with blood. He ignored all of it: the pain, the weakness, the dizziness.

Nathan could feel the burning contempt, smoldering rage and blistering hatred churning within him and hardening his countenance in a rigid expression of stone-hard, absolute determination.

"X-MEN, ATTACK!"

Abruptly Cyclops yanked furiously his golden visor from his face.

An irresistible tidal wave of red power slammed on Shaw, hurling him far away into the forest.

> > > >

Tessa studied intensely the monitors, her soft features marred by a wrinkled frown as her attention shifted from the battle waging in the meadow to the fights raging indoors. In each hall, in each room, in each stair, the X-men fought furiously the blue-and-red-costumed troops had raided the mansion bringing fire and explosions and death.

Her hazel eyes lingered briefly on the broad back of a huge black man. She couldn't help to be glad of having kicked Bishop out of the Room. The man meant well -he always meant well- but he was utterly tactless.

And glancing sideways the black-curled woman knew it was exactly what they didn't need right now.

By her right side sat Jean Grey, still and silent, staring impassively at the images the screens showed. Her hands gripped a metal board was scarred with furrows of fingers scratching it with a frightful strength. Dark stains of blood smeared the metal.

Jean didn't seem noticing her wounds. Her body was stiffened and her face was serious, grim, darkened. Still there was an odd glow shifting and blazing on those unblinking eyes.

Cautiously Sage peered at them for a second. She looked away, utterly terrified.

> > > >

Barely Scott had roared his orders, the X-Men scattered around the field instantly, heading for their foes. Nathan Summers was striding briskly towards Selene, brandishing determinedly his psimitar, when a bolt crashed on his shields.

The beam exploded harmlessly on tiny sparks, being too weak to destroy his shields.

Emma had risen again, standing unsteadily on weak legs as her soulless eyes stared far away.

Cable narrowed his grey eyes and aimed a heated glare at Selene, demanding silently. The sinister woman rolled one lock of raven hair around her fingers and grinned lecherously.

"Your attacks are useless, Chosen Child." She drawled. "She's just my hollow-minded puppet. She can't feel pain or suffering or grief. You can't stop her unless you slay her. But your pretty moral shall not allow it, shall it?"

"I wouldn't be so sure." Nathan seethed darkly. "But the solution is simpler than you believe."

"Indeed. If you can't burn the puppet, beat up the puppet master." Rachel Summers stepped ahead her brother, glaring calmly but balefully at the woman as her eyes emitted a bright glow and her flame-like locks fluttered in the still air. "Look after Frost, brother. I'll handle Bondage Queen over here."

Nathan nodded and headed for Emma, leaving his sister alone to face the Black Queen.

"Do you think you can handle me, child?" Selene burst out in laughs. "Stupid mortal. Have I not told that your paltry powers are NOTHING compared with mine?"

Her eyes flashed ghastly ivory for a moment as her mind visualized the ground. The land split beneath Rachel's feet, rose around her and clamped her body like hard jaws of stone. Sharp, fang-like rock spikes squashed her soft flesh.

Rachel's eyelashes fluttered playfully, though. "I'm sorry. I wasn't listening."

Instantly the stone coffin encasing her exploded in a thick cloud of dirt and rubble. Rachel's mind picked every bit, every fragment of shrapnel and hurled it towards Selene. The woman forged a telekinetic shield hurriedly and deflected the barrage of debris.

"You got two shots with me, witch. That's more what has got NOBODY, including Ahab, and you wasted them." Rachel stated loudly, as her hair strands transformed into bright embers and an orange flame enfolded her. "Now I shall teach you the true power of Summers lineage."

"And what can it be?" Selene barked tartly as her hands unleashed a searing telepathic blast.

Rachel retaliated with a twenty times stronger attack, a bolt of telepathy and telekinesis entwined shattered the tinier discharge and hurled the Black Queen into the thick foliage.

"Make a silly question..." The flame-haired woman grinned gleefully before bolting at the woods.

> > > >

Eager for pummeling the arrogant bastard, Northstar darted towards Mastermind, lifting a fist.

He flew through Wyndgarde like if the man was made from air and crashed into something invisible, but solid. And quite tough.

As he flopped down onto the soft ground awkwardly, Northstar guessed he had been victim of another stupid illusion. Surely he had bumped into a tree.

He stood up unsteadily, rubbing his bruised face and turned around. A row of Mastermind's images surrounded him. Theirs eyes leered down on him. Mocking. Laughing. Guffawing.

"And now what will you do, X-Man?" They chorused, moving theirs lips simultaneously. The mirage was uncannily perfect. "How will you find the real me if you can't even see what is in front of your eyes?"

He groaned and pounced on the nearest. His fist blew through the image, dissolving it. Rapidly he started smashing the remainders, shattering one after other until his knuckles connected with something solid. Northstar grabbed that Mastermind and pummeled his ugly visage dozens of times incredibly fast.

He halted his onslaught abruptly. Mastermind's face had melted away and transformed. Now he was watching Iceman's face. Bruised and bloodied, the nose broken and the lip split, dangling limply.

He had been punching Bobby. No, impossible. Bobby wasn't in that battleground. It was another illusion, another damned illusion, another goddamned illusion, it had to be...

An ugly smirk tilted Bobby's lips' corners upwards and the vision stared straight at Northstar's horrified eyes.

"Have any trouble acknowledging my illusions, X-Man? Aren't you scared? Aren't you frightened of hitting one of your little friends believing he's an enemy?"

The twisted, grinning face began to rot and melt and crumble in dust.

Something tapped Northstar's shoulder. Reluctantly, he turned. A misshapen demon of orange fire and bubbling lava stared at him irradiating appalling pain through its hollow eye-sockets.

He felt shock and horror and revulsion and the urge of attacking that thing. But he couldn't. Maybe it was a friend, or a partner, or simply something would crunch his fist if he struck. But perhaps it was a real danger and it'd strike HIM if he stayed motionless.

The Canadian man hopped on the air and flew away, far away, unable to fight, unable to fight back. He streaked through the midnight sky. But Mastermind's voice chased him for everywhere, taunting him.

"You can't get away, X-Man. I can make you believe you've flown miles away albeit you haven't moved. I can make you believe you're safe when you're about of getting killed. I can make you frightened when there's nothing to be frightened of, desperate when there're no reasons to despair."

Then the world warped. Up, down, right and left became mixed. Sky and ground merged and he lost his direction. The mirage changed and of sudden there were endless rows of stairs going from and towards every places, vanishing in the infinite. The world shifted again and now he was soaring over a wrecked land where volcanoes vomited tongues of hot magma. Straight after he was drifting in the cosmos, choking and freezing in the deadly space coldness. The scene warped and he was drowning in an ocean full of tenebrous shapes dwelled in the abyssal darkness. The picture became fully black, a glacial darkness where two unimaginably immense eyes floated, glaring mockingly.

"You think you're powerful and invincible and downright superior to me, don't you? Do you think you can beat an illusionist, speedster? Fool! My power makes the human mind STAGGER!"

Straight after he was assaulted by hordes of soldiers and riders, knights and samurais, vikings and indians, pirates and crusaders. He fled and was chased by black-scaled wyverns, sharp-beaked griffins with bone-crushing talons, flaming balrogs wielding whips, sea-snakes whose glistening fangs dripped poison, lycanthropes with blood-smeared maws, orcs waving blunt swords, bodiless wraiths wailing blood-chilling cries, furry trolls, grey-skinned gargoyles, giant spiders and shrilling harpies and bat-like vampires and goblins and sphinxes and hydras and chimeras and krakens and ogres and demons and ghouls and...

And he couldn't run away and he wanted fighting but he didn't dare and there were so many and they were reaching him and he didn't know what was real and what not and he was weary and dreadful and sickened and he wanted fleeing and hiding and forgetting, but he couldn't give up, he didn't want giving up, he'd never give up, but he was frightened, oh so frightened and they were surrounding him and...

Of sudden everything stopped. The nightmarish shapes vanished, the illusory landscape faded.

Full with fear and reluctance, Northstar looked around. He was again in the forest's threshold. Not far from him Jason Wyndgarde was sprawled facedown on the grass, still and unconscious.

Above him was standing Husk, grabbing the back of his jacket's collar with one hand. Her other arm was lifted to chest level, and the skin covering the fist was peeled, revealing a heavy mace of grey stone.

"Have..." He stammered hesitantly. "Have you knocked him out?"

"Yes. Thanks to you." The blonde girl smiled warmly. "He was so focused on you he didn't see me sneaking behind him. If you had given up he had spotted me and hurt me, but you didn't."

Northstar smiled back. An unwelcome thought crossed abruptly his mind and a frown hardened his expression. "Perhaps. Or perhaps this is a trick to force me to get my guard down."

Guthrie smiled bleakly. "I suppose it's a matter of faith."

> > > >

Rachel navigated stealthily through the forest, scanning the underbrush with all her senses, physical and psychical. Each lingering shadow startled her. She was aware of her weakness. In that terrain she wasn't hunter, but prey.

However Rachel missed the shadow lurking above her, camouflaged in the darkness of the web the branches, leaves and weeds wove.

Mentally she was settling on a strategy. She could be stealthier, dive in the bushes and search Selene crawling over the ground.

Or perhaps she could goad her. "Eh, witch! Where are you hiding?" She sang cheerfully. "You don't need be frightened. I don't plan hurt you... a lot."

Of sudden a large boulder erupted from the foliage and flew towards her. The young telekinetic stretched onward her arm and caught easily the projectile before closing her fist, pulverizing it.

As the stone crumbled between her fingers, a shadow leapt from the branches, sliding noiselessly among twigs and leaves, and materializing an energy blade in her hand, stabbed mercilessly Rachel's back, right above the tailbone.

Marvel Girl screeched when a jolt of pain burst behind her and coursed through her spine. Her body fell heavily on the littered floor, like struck by a thunder, and she moaned.

Tears clouded her eyes, but she still spotted a swordtip diving towards her throat. Rapidly she cartwheeled as the sword plunged in fresh Earth. She jumped on her feet and looked at last to her foe.

Her lips let out a gasp.

> > > >

Logan's claws itched terribly. He felt the tingle crawling down his skin, demanding freedom and craving for blood, but he restrained it, clenching his fists in helpless rage. Kitty stood by his side, trying bravely concealing her dread.

In front of them stood Donald Pierce, visibly wounded and wrecked. His clothes were torn and ripped, displaying the long gashes lacerated his body, shredding both flesh and metal. His face, bruised and bloodied was a mask of livid fury.

And he was squeezing Jubilee's neck with one claw as his left arm was draped around her waist.

"I've said you keep still or I'll snap her neck before you gave one step forward! And you, runt, keep those claws off me unless you want seeing me ripping her head off!"

As he spewed hatred he crushed ruthlessly Jubilee, who was struggling fiercely for getting away. Inwardly she was cursing herself. She should have been prudent instead of coming near when Logan was pounding him on the floor. "Don't listen to him and kick his ass! You know he wants killing us all!"

"Hush, little brat!" His claw closed tightly around her throat in menace. But Jubilee didn't cower.

"I.AM.NOT.A.BRAT!" She replied, and fury overcame fear and frustration. "And I'll not be used by a Terminator rip-off!"

She rose her hand above her left shoulder and spread her hand open. Burning sparks burst in front of Pierce's eyes and he squealed in pain, letting go Jubilee unwillingly to cover his shattered face. Swiftly the girl somersaulted onward and spun around, placing herself by Logan's left side.

Pierce uncovered warily his injured eyes. Wolverine stomped at him angrily. His fearsome claws glinted with bloodlust. "So that threatening one of my kids. Piece of garbage, I'm going to chop you in pieces and the pieces in PIECES!"

"It shall be no required, beloved." A voice interrupted abruptly.

Straight after a tiny hurricane arose, sweeping to the White Bishop and dragging him upwards. Suddenly startled he grasped a dried branch and clung weakly to it as a roaring, sharp wind whipped him.

Wolverine, Shadowcat and Jubilee turned around. Storm strode towards them, serene but fiery, doused in crackling tongues of the brightest and purest light. The power of the hurricane and the blizzard and the lightning coursed through her body, wrapping her in an unnatural arctic wind flayed violently the plants blooming around her.

Her narrowed eyes glared at Pierce pouring chilly disdain. "Do you know what happens when a cyborg is caught in a thunderstorm?"

Kitty eyed the woman in puzzlement. "Thunderstorm? What thunderstorm?"

Storm looked upwards. Kitty followed her eyes and nodded in understanding. "Oh. THAT thunderstorm."

A massive, roaring hurricane was dragging the stormclouds in a vortex of roaring wind and darkest billows. The wind increased its speed, and the whole air vibrated with its fury. Streaks and forks of golden lightning burst and crackled and coalesced in the core of the typhoon, shaping a sphere amidst the spiraling clouds.

Then the electric orb exploded and dozens and dozens of thunderbolts plunged towards Earth and speared brutally Pierce.

The ear-shattering rumble died away. The hurricane calmed down. The tempest dissipated, clearing the sky.

Logan and his surrogate daughters stared somewhat sickened in the blackened, steaming, reeking heap lay sprawled on the grass. And still alive. His lips let out faint gurgles and his hand still clutched the splintered, burnt branch. The mastery of the windrider over her powers was amazing.

"It becomes a lightning rod." Storm tossed backwards her wavy hair in nonchalance. Idly she noticed Kitty was giving her wary and nervous glances. "What is the matter, kitten?"

The brunette girl stared quickly from her to Logan. "What does mean... 'beloved'?"

Both adults blushed. "Nothing of your business!" They chorused.

> > > >

She was coated in black, so dark her sinuous shape blended, invisible, in the darkness. But even though she was doused in blackness and shrouded in shadows, Rachel recognized the violet eyes, the red tattoo marring her face, the glowing blade of rose energy.

"Betsy!" She shouted in amazement as she scrambled to her feet. "It can't be! You're dead!"

Selene scoffed. "How you were, child. Nevertheless she isn't really alive... or dead."

Rachel eyed warily at Selene and back at Psylocke. "What do you mean?"

"You can't understand what really entails the Crimson Dawn. When that simpleton Worthington took a portion of it and offered his blood in payment, he did far more than saving Braddock's life and soul. He unchained cosmic forces neither of you can imagine. Blood by blood, theirs lives became entwined by threads too thick to be severed by slashes of an oversized sword. Vargas ignored that but I not, and after he embalmed his trophy, I stole her and woke up... under my bidding. Unfortunately she has lost control over the Crimson Dawn, but it increases greatly her power. Do you want a proof?"

The Black Queen looked meaningfully at her slave. Wordlessly Psylocke lifted her katana and gripping the hilt with both hands, performed a downward slash.

With a terrific crunch a long crack zigzagged along the land and the ground ruptured, arising a dust cloud.

Rachel eyed nervously at the rift, marveled at the power Betsy handled now, but she had no time to reflections. Psylocke crouched down and leapt agilely towards her, gliding noiselessly on the air like a being of living darkness, and slashed downwards, intending rending Rachel asunder.

Marvel Girl put up her hands. A red flare flashed between them.

Betsy's katana collided with a psimitar forged of raw psionic fire had solidified between Rachel's hands. If the brainwashed woman was able to feel and display emotions, she would be gaping.

"Do you believe you're the only capable of mastering that trick? Rachel grunted, barely blocking and holding back the ninja. "I'll kick your butt, not matter how powerful you are!"

She kicked brutally Betsy's belly, hurling her backwards. Psylocke recoiled back and doubled over in pain. Swiftly Rachel lunged at her, but the woman sidestepped, dodging her charge. Quickly both women spun around and rushed at each other.

Sword and spear collided with a burst of purple light and orange fire, and a ring of destructive telekinesis rippled through the forest, shaking the trees, disintegrating rocks and hurling branches and debris around.

Both women dueled, parted their blades and clashed again. The atmosphere was filled with the clatter of weapons colliding, the hiss of blades slicing the air impossibly fast and the glimmer of light arcs theirs edges traced in the darkness. Rachel and Betsy battled mindlessly, slashing, parrying, stabbing, thrusting, somersaulting, jabbing, flaying, punching, kicking, dodging, ducking, spinning. Around them air, ground and wood shivered and writhed.

Rachel parried Betsy's attacks masking her concern behind a hard grimace. The battle wasn't so even like it seemed. Other than Psylocke was really trying to kill her, she was very used to move her body like that. Her memory stored one hundred years worth of experience and fighting knowledge, but she barely practiced martial arts or fencing. She needed finish the brawl quickly.

Rachel swung around her long flaming staff in circles, deflecting a hurricane of slashes as she stepped back.

Her ankle trod accidentally on a stone, distracting her for one second. Rachel's face dripped with horror.

Betsy squatted down rapidly and swept the ground with her left leg, slamming Marvel Girl's ankles and subsequently tripping her up. Rachel crashed heavily onto the soil, breaking brambles and squashing ferns. Betsy seized her swan-like neck and smashed her head brutally on a gnarled root.

Rachel struggled against the blackness filtering in her vision, and through that dim haze she saw Psylocke leaned over her. Her eyes irradiated an unholy paleness, washed out every warmth and emotion, and her fist gripped fiercely her katana's hilt.

Psylocke reared her arm to embed the blade into Rachel's chest when a large shape exploded out from the foliage, shrouded in a cloud of countless bits of wooden debris, caught Betsy and tackled her in the thicket. The shrubs splintered with the impact and leaves and broken twigs flew around.

And feathers.

Snow-white angel's feathers.

And when the dirt and the debris settled on the littered soil, Warren Worthington was kneeled on all fours, pinning Betsy with his weight and seizing firmly her wrists. She twisted her body furiously, trying escaping, but he was too strong.

"Betsy!" He begged. "Wake up, please!"

She didn't reply. She slipped brusquely her right hand from his grip, shut it tightly and threw a punch at his forehead, sprouting a dagger-like flame from hers knuckles. Warren caught the energy blade before she stabbed him, but the edge cut his skin.

He stifled a moan.

His blood oozed from the wounds and trickled down, dripping on the darkness cloaking Betsy. The blackness writhed and sizzled with an evil, avid hiss.

Angel frowned. Crimson Dawn fed on blood, right?

Suddenly determined, he caught Betsy's wrist with his unwounded hand and planted his palm firmly on her forehead. The slick shadows wavered and rose from Betsy's body like a black haze. Tendrils of ebony mist swallowed Warren and wrapped him in an unfathomable darkness only pierced by his moans of agony.

Gradually the shadows faded and the man slumped limply over Psylocke. His breathing was haggard, and his skin was unnaturally pale. He seemed weak, sickle. The fog had leeched nearly the half of his blood.

Selene stared at them with unblinking stupefaction. She had laughed when Worthington interrupted the duel suddenly, but now she was puzzled. She had lost control over Psylocke. And not only her. Her mind eye could see Cable imprisoning a fallen Emma within a telekinetic bubble.

Someone had severed her link with both telepaths. But who?

"The Wicked West Witch." A bodiless voice floated in the forest.

Selene frowned in quick realization, whirled around and furiously shouted, "You!"

Two ferocious eyes, blazing green with hatred and resentment, flashed in the shadows. Gradually a spectral shape materialized. A slim and gorgeous female body clad in tight black leather, with a sensual face framed by a flame of hair cascaded freely down the shoulders.

Madelyne Prior. Jean Grey's clon.

Selene knew her too well. Fire lit up her glare. "What do you want, Madelyne?"

"What I've always wished, witch. Revenge from all who have used me and discarded afterwards." The redhead woman replied, grinning broadly.

"You should have been satisfied when I allowed you live. Do you truly believe you can defeat me?"

"No. But I can aid the one is capable." She tilted her head at the redhead kneeled on the floor. "Even if she is Jean Grey's daughter."

Selene stared at her with disbelief. "I reiterate my question with one variation. Do you truly believe she can defeat me?"

Right then Rachel stood up, stroking soothingly her sore neck. She was recovered. And enraged. "I warned you, whore. You have only one shot with me. And you wasted it again. Now I'll kick your ass most definitely."

"Are you kidding, child?" Selene chuckled. A smile widened her glossy-black lips. "You are no contest."

"Have I any humor sense you're aware of?" Rachel fired back. "No. I'm sarcastic and biting, but I never joke. Otherwise my enemies would never take me seriously."

"Agreed, then. Fight me in the psionic realm... If you dare."

The Black Queen shut her eyelids and her spirit slid out of her body and in the Astral Plane.

She gasped. Deep blackness spread everywhere, pierced by countless dots of milky brightness. Nebulas of rose and indigo dust rolled in the pitch-black space, stirred by lightning storms, and planets and suns gyrated near from her, circled by asteroid belts. A lightning star of dazzling brightness whizzed past her. Summers seemed having settled on the classic starscape.

Of sudden the whole world shuddered. A sequence of quakes and trembles shook it, warning of the coming of a power capable of rocking the very foundations of the realm. Planets crumbled in rubble and stars exploded.

Time and space folded and warped in front of Selene, and the thought fabric tore. Rachel Summers walked through the tattered gap.

"I'm sorry being late." She uttered. And her voice was a booming thunder, and her eyes glowed with an unholy golden flare and she seemed human no longer.

Selene arched one brow. "Your galactic illusion is very impressive, child. It's exactly what I'd expect of an inexpert and careless telepath, inclined to gloat about her power and waste it with useless visual tricks."

"You're an ignorant fool." Rachel ignored her biting remarks and spread her arms. Red flames blossomed from her spirit and enfolded her shape. "Have you ever felt the light and the darkness that lies in the core of the soul? The universe that throbs in the deepest of the heart?"

Selene hesitated warily, because the wild flames had grown in a massive, glaring Phoenix. Its majestic wings spread as far as her sight reached. And its choler-filled eyes burnt.

Rachel crossed her arms over her chest and the raptor flapped its wings once. The swing spawned a hurricane of fire and thunders that swatted Selene, leaving a trail of cracked planets and crushed stars as it streamed through the space.

The tidal wave of fire smashed Selene into a rocky asteroid. Chains of the whitest light sprouted from the rock and coiled around her body, shackling her tightly. She moaned and struggled and yanked, but the fetters didn't bulge.

Phoenix' victorious shriek resounded across Astral Plane.

She was still trying freeing herself when a slender figure floated patiently towards her, brandishing an energy spear. The disgust on her face was as fiery as the flames licking her frame. A light of damnation glowed on her eyes.

"I suppose the best way of slaying a witch is burning her at a stake." Marvel Girl hissed, rotating her lance in fast circles before hurling it. The glowing projectile stuck in Black Queen's chest like a spike and buried firmly in her heart.

Selene's death cry, bloodcurdling and piercing like a beast's yowl, echoed in the farthest reaches of Astral Plane, starting all psionic being in the planet. Hers screams continued as she writhed compulsorily on the chains. A trickle of drool leaked out her lips' corner and her eyes turned blank and lifeless. A dull shimmer illuminated her body and light spilled from the spear's wound.

Her hide swelled up, withered and spidery cracks spread along its surface. Beams of ivory light erupted from within, and through the holes riddling her skin a stream of energy welled out. A river made from millions of screeching souls her gluttony had consumed throughout centuries, leaving her body empty.

Slowly she blackened and dissolved to ashes. Flames lit up the black pile of cinders.

Rachel stared at the bonfire with an inscrutable frown. "You fought for sheer pleasure and cherished your prey's suffering. I fight for an ideal and bask in the victory. The winner never was in question."

The inhuman light burning on her pupils died away and she was a young woman again. A thought came to her and Rachel smirked. "If I kill another psychic vampire more, Kitty will ask me if Buffy isn't really my lost sister."

> > > >

Moonlight lit up the grassy glade, casting away the shadows and revealing the grim figures treading it.

They were facing at each other noiselessly. The quiet atmosphere was tense. Oppressive. Repressed anger churned in that asphyxiating air, heated and thick like tar, like a prelude of tempest.

In one side was Shaw, big and bulky and tough like a mountain. His expression was of fury, slightly diluted by smug confidence. Across him stood Cyclops along Gambit, and Rogue hovering above them. Their expressions were grim but determined. And dangerous.

"I must admit I didn't expect that attack, Cyclops. I didn't believe you so impulsive and rash." The Black King snickered, brushing with one hand the ripped tatters barely covered his chest. "Have you forgotten I absorb any and all force thrown at me? Your beam has done me stronger than never."

Scott snorted and looked to Gambit. "Do you know one of the few perks of my mutation, LeBeau? I can read the body language and tell when someone is bluffing."

Remy blinked in mock innocence. "Remy had never guessed. Is that the motive of nobody plays poker with you ever?"

Scott shrugged and gave him an utterly serious look. "I suppose it's ALSO my fault. I'm too good. I wouldn't be evicted from cards or pool if I lost every so often."

Gambit tried restraining his laughter. He really tried. He wasn't successful. "Do you mean he's lying?"

Scott aimed one finger at the Black King. "Yes. He pretends calm, but he's actually quite nervous. I bet he's lost for now the most of the power he absorbed, and he's afraid of we realize. So he taunts us to goad us in committing a mistake."

"Then what do we do, Fearless Leader?"

Scott rolled up his eyes. "Personally I'd tear his limbs off before throttling him, but Rogue must attack first. Go ahead."

Rogue landed smoothly on the sod. A disturbingly mischievous smirk sparkled in her pupils as she combed her brown curls backwards. "Gladly." She uttered.

She strode towards Sebastian Shaw, displaying a feral grin. So wicked, so roguish that Shaw felt momentarily tempted of giving away his pride and run away. But that very thought fueled his fury.

"Do you want battling me, little girl?" He taunted.

Rogue huffed, unimpressed. "Look, Sugar. I know the hits make you stronger but you normal strength is an average man's. And you know I'm invulnerable and I can defeat you with a slight brush of my fingers. So why don't you wise up and surrender rather giving me an excuse to hurt you?"

His ire exploded like a volcano and he launched a punch straight on Rogue's face. Finger's bones splintered and the wrist dislocated with a sickening crunch. Shaw howled in pain and drew back his arm. She was tough like steel... No, tougher. He could have got one chance of bending steel.

Rogue rolled up her eyes and grasped his wrist delicately. "Does it hurt a lot? I'm sorry." Her hand retreated, leaving an odd metallic device attached to Shaw's wrist.

"What is this?" He muttered warily.

"The bracelet I use to shut my powers off."

Shock flashed on his face.

"By the way, that wasn't a punch, sugar. THIS is a punch."

She reared her fist and struck Shaw's face with a piledriver's strength. The man soared through the air and crashed violently on the floor, feeling too hurt to talk or move.

Scott glanced at Gambit. "Your turn."

Shaw's ravaged clothes flashed with scarlet light, glowing brighter every second. The man noticed it and yanked hastily and brutally his clothes from him, before tossing the shredded rags far from him. The tatters floated silently onto the floor before being incinerated in an explosion.

He was calming down when a shadow covered him.

Cyclops was towering over him, enfolded in a ghostly moonlight darkened his features and warped his figure in a grim, terrible shadow. A darkness just pierced for two red spots of flaring light.

"Usually I'm not prone to mindless violence. But I'm willing making an exception." He hissed threateningly, flexing his tense muscles. "I'm sick of being used. Do you understand? SICK."

He grabbed Shaw's neck. The next thing his foe felt was a fist shattering his jaw.

> > > >

The mansion shuddered fearfully, rocked with each explosion booming into the building. Some walls were cracked and with the plaster scaled off, and the windows weren't shattered yet gleamed with the burst of a flare, a lightning or a psionic bolt.

Of sudden a bigger quake shook the school like a card castle. The front wall exploded, detonated by an unimaginable strength, and boulders, rubble and soldiers' bodies flew away.

A tall figure emerged amidst the floating dust. Silvery light gleamed dazzlingly on his metallic body. His meaty fists clenched tightly and his eyes stared with icy contempt at the men crashing on the floor in a rain of blocks and dirt. Quietly Colossus hopped onto the floor and waited.

Near from him the mansion's gates opened and a cobalt stream of magnetic power flowed outwards, dragging more soldiers and laying them callously on the grass along the remainder henchmen. Polaris strode out, shimmering in blue electricity, and the X-Men rushed after her, surrounding quickly the defeated and beaten raiders.

Alex Summers stepped forward. "I hope you realize your unconditional surrender is not an option."

A man scrambled swiftly for his rifle. Havok's palm unleashed a golden heat blast melt instantly the weapon.

"I think they have understood at last." Bishop stated gravely, aiming an oversized gun towards the writhing heap of bruised soldiers. "Maybe we can finally-"

The atmosphere blazed and a massive arc of pulsating, greyish-azure electricity split the skies and squashed the X-Men.

Before sinking in cold oblivion, Sam Guthrie made out a bulky figure approaching slowly. Dimly he recognized the scrawny features, the ruthless and twisted grimace, the long plait of green hair.

Oh, no. Not him. Not now. He groaned helplessly. When had he joined the Hellfire Club?

Gideon, the External mutant, capable to copy any mutant's powers, regarded his fallen enemies and his battered subordinates with identical disgust.

"Stand up, fools!" He shouted to the troops. "Kill the X-Men and all people who dwell in the mansion!"

> > > >

Jean Grey stared at the events unfolding in the monitor in sheer terror and anguish.

Images flashed in her mind.

The mansion in ruins. Children's bodies lying everywhere. Her family murdered.

And she was helpless to impede it, unable to use her powers. Everybody would perish as she looked.

No. She couldn't tolerate it. She wouldn't allow it. She wouldn't stand by as innocent people died again in an orgy of blood and fire and destruction and death.

She rose abruptly of her chair and with a determined glare, ignoring Sage altogether, grabbed her collar and ripped it from her neck.

Her self faded quietly from the room.

> > > >

Deep in the forest Scott Summers rose his head in sudden alert.

"Something bad is going on."

> > > >

An intense amber light flooded the country. Golden and glowing and warm like a dawn.

For a second the fighters thought sun had risen prematurely, and looked towards the light.

Amidst the meadow, enveloped in a swirling whirlpool of crackling golden flames, legs separated and fists stuck to her sides, burning eyes and hair floating in the blazes, stood her: Child of Light and Darkness, Savior and Annihilator, Starchilde and Chaos-Bringer, Power of Love and Hatred, sacrificed and reborn in starfire.

Jean Grey-Summers, Phoenix.

> > > >

The chapter's title is taken from UXM 132.

I exposed in the conversation between Ororo and Logan why I think a relationship between Logan and Jean is a bad idea. And I'm not being biased; I'm being -relatively- objective. Theirs personalities in the comics are too incompatible to a relationship worked in the long run. Or at least that I think when I review the comics and I read how theirs characters are generally treated. And the Age of Apocalypse reinforced my opinion. Frankly I think Jean/Warren is more likely to work than Jean/Logan.

I committed a mistake with Mastermind. I knew he had dead from Legacy virus but I thought he had been brought back. Oh, well, I think I can think of some good excuse. All in all, comic characters are dying and resurrecting all along, aren't they?

When I started this story, Psylocke was still dead, and I had already planned resurrect her back then. I haven't read the late comics and I don't know how she's returned, but I like my excuse. By the way, I suppose it's obvious now why Warren and Paige argued in an earlier chapter.

Jean has chosen using her powers to protect the X-Men knowing perfectly well that selfless act can cost her life. What will be Phoenix's fate?

To be continued...


	8. Part Eight The Fate of Phoenix

> > > >

Firebird Rising

Author: Jenskott

Summary: Jean Grey is dead. Will Phoenix be able to rise from the ashes again? What will happen if she does it? My own version of the new 'Phoenix Endsong' series.

Notes: Come one, people! I need reviews! Please! How can I know if the chapter is good or bad if you don't give your opinions? Thanks anyway to my reviewers: **Wen1** –Thanks for your encouragement-, **Illmantrim** –Thanks, I try doing my best; what I like the most of Marvel heroes is they are heroes and humans at once, and I try to reflect that- and **Phoenix83ad** –Your reviews always make my day better; I'm not going to resurrect more characters but get in mind I believed Mastermind was alive and Marvel has brought Madelyne back years ago; and I'll explain about Emma in theend notes-. Thanks, pals! Everybody rock!

Rating: PG. Though there're some nasty words at the end. You've been warned.

Disclaimer: Marvel owns the books. Stan Lee and Jack Kirby are their true parents.

Feedback: To Please, I need reviews! English isn't my primary language, so I need much advice.

> > > >

Pat Eight. The Fate of Phoenix-

She stood up, straight and proud, alone amidst a sea of souls, rising up over the nearby humans like a silent and towering mountain, high and steer and terrible. Liquid fire enveloped her body and swift winds stroked her inhumanly beautiful face. Above her the night shrouded the sky as a dark canvas, spreading as far as her sight reached. Rivers of stars twinkled on the indigo blackness, greeting their daughter and mistress. Around her the world was colored with hues of white and black.

Light. Ivory. Warm. Bright. Glorious.

Shadow. Ebony. Frosty. Deep. Breath-taking.

Light embraced her. Shadow beckoned her, lured her, tempted her. It would annihilate her, corrupt her, blacken her soul and turn her into a monster thirsty for power and drunk with it. But it would make her whole also.

Part of she was terrified. Part of she didn't care.

Because, even though she rejected the very thought, she knew she had no choice.

Light can't exist without casting a shadow. Shadow can't exist without a light to spawn it. She couldn't be good or evil, Phoenix or Dark Phoenix. She was everything. Love and Hate. Life, Death and Rebirth.

It was her gift. Her burden. Her curse.

Jean Grey shook her head and spun around at her foe. Her eyes narrowed to slits, her heartbeats sped up, her fists clenched and her knees flexed. She let the exhilarating thrill of the battle thumped in her with blazes burnt everything idle musings.

"You? I thought you were hidden in some hole!" He shouted. His voice sounded faint and remote. "What do you want?"

Her thoughts drifted away, and she tried focusing, she tried ignoring her craving for grabbing the Moon in hers hand and crushing it.

"You can't beat me." She whispered hoarsely. A migraine throbbed in her temples and her vision was foggy. "Not matter how fast you are, I'm far quicker. And you can't copy my powers anyway. You wouldn't know how using them."

"I'm very willing testing that premise, Phoenix. I shan't be defeated so easily."

She could sense Sun on the brink of rising, and she just felt how ravenous she was. She yearned for consuming that golden, warm light. Obliterate the solar system, soar free along the universe, forget Jean Grey had ever existed. But she squashed down that horrific craving, down where she couldn't feel it, where it couldn't harm her.

"What do you fight for?" Jean muttered. A deep ache clutched her body, like flaming claws tearing and corroding her entrails.

"What?"

"What do you strive for?" She elaborated impatiently. And raggedly. She couldn't breathe. "What do you expect accomplishing in this life?"

"I... I don't really expect anything. I've never harbored goals, dreams or warped ideals. I devoted myself to amass money and conquer power to not being helpless... But why am I telling you of this? Why do you care?"

The redhead woman felt her strength and courage returning and quelling down her evil impulses. "I fight for a free world where beauty and life isn't a fading remembrance. A world where a kid can play in the streets without fear to get shot for being different. A world where my children live happily without leading rebellions against dictators, being used by madmen or getting killed by megalomaniacs. I fight for freedom, for my family, for the FUTURE. And in the name of that dream I STRIKE!"

She raised her arms. Blazes roared and the Phoenix unfolded its wings, majestic and terrible. Unnatural, terrific brightness flooded her eyes with gold and she shrieked in challenge.

Gideon tapped in his mutant skill. He needed no more than one second to copy her powers.

In a split-second Jean broke in his mental barriers, blocked fully his power and knocked him out in oblivion.

And meanwhile she battled firmly the horrible temptation to rummage through his mind, peek at every obscene thought, read every dark memory, learn every filthy secret. And then wiping everything out and turning him a blank slate, or cracking its skull and look to his brain oozing. Only for tasting her power.

She shook the though off and disdainfully threw him away using a fraction of her telekinesis.

Flames boiled in her, flooding her with a rare, indescribable joy and she whimpered with delight. Then she spun around to glare at the soldiers scattered onto the grass. With theirs fists clenched in fury, she contemplated theirs faceless masks. In her mind the features warped and transformed in the faces of every foe she had ever battled since Magneto invaded that military base one lifetime ago. Rage and hatred crept in her and fueled her power. An inferno of blazes burnt into her heart and she could restrain it no longer.

A horrific red light colored an atmosphere seemed being in flames. Air thickened with sizzling heat and crushing pressure, and wind arose. A maelstrom of telekinesis whipped the lawn, picking roughly anything unattached the ground -boulders, leaves, branches, soldiers, everything except the X-Men- and dragging it in the typhoon was spinning in swift circles above the mansion.

The hurricane blew and howled, drowning the screams uttered the soldiers, flayed by the violent wind and the cloud of pulverized and shattered debris floated around them. Though Phoenix ignored theirs yells.

"I've been putting up with your kind since I was fifteen. Villains and villains' minions. Always irradiating hatred, always spreading violence. Always taking people I care for away me. Will you ever stop?"

Visions of other time flashed in her mind like forks of lightning. She saw her precious daughter turned into a slave, a thrall, a hound when she was barely fourteen because her parents hadn't protected her. She saw her little boy growing during an endless war, losing his childhood and the happiness he deserved, battling the dictators that razed the future, rising after each heart-wrenching loss -his wife, his son, his clan- and fighting the fair fight how his parents had taught him... even though they hadn't been there for him.

Her eyes narrowed dangerously, pouring out a fire of choler. A furious, loud, inhumane bellow erupted from her lips.

"Away me, away my family, away MY LIFE!"

An earth-shaking explosion boomed, splitting the ground and shattering the atmosphere. In the twister's core a fireblast detonated, rippling through the sky like a tide of blazes.

Everything inside its radius was incinerated and obliterated in a fraction of second.

Phoenix contemplated the fire engulfing the sky and dissolving with a weird mixture of rage and grief. Then horror washed out any emotion from her twisted expression when she understood what happened.

The breaking. The snap. The fall. The release. The letting go.

Flames exploded inside her body, searing her flesh and she felt a limitless energy ripping her bowels, tearing her skin and flowing, unstoppable, out her.

Her legs tottered and she kneeled clumsily on the field, wrapped her burning body with her arms and screamed piercingly.

Strong arms embraced her suddenly and soft lips kissed her mouth. She half opened her eyes and made out the figure was kneeled in front of her, charring in the sea of flames.

No, not him, she grieved. Anyone but him.

Scott, she told mentally. Please, don't do this. Don't waste your life.

It wouldn't be much of a life if I stood by and let you die. He replied through the link, echoing the words she had uttered long ago. And you're missing the point, honey. If you can't control your powers, everybody will die. We also can pass away together.

Jean sobbed, startled of the sense that phrase made. It was better spend theirs last minutes embraced and remembering their love than waste them in regrets, arguments or recriminations.

Closing her eyes she kissed back as tongues of gigantic flames consumed them and earth-cracking tremors shook the ground.

The intense heat evaporated her tears.

> > > >

Many heroes through the planet felt the imminent holocaust.

Peter Parker, Spiderman, lurched forward on his bed, abruptly awoken by explosions resounding into his skull. His spider-sense was rumbling like a thunder. Praying whoever was in world-saving shift that night knew what was doing, he snuggled up to his wife.

In the Fantastic Four's HQ, Sue Richards cradled her fretful son as her husband, her brother and her friend stared a monitor. As she tried soothing Franklin's sobs, she heard Ben mumbling "Crap. We're dead."

In Tony Stark's mansion, sirens blared insistently, assembling the Avengers in front of the monitor. Scarlet Witch watched the raging firebird the screen displayed and palmed her head. "Why do global disasters strike always when I'm sleeping?"

In Asgard, Thor jerked his head skywards. The ground, the skies... were shivering like if something was crushing them. Like if Ragnarok had come. An unfamiliar emotion -dread- filtered in him. The blonde Thunder God whirled his hammer, tearing a gap in the space's fabric, and stepped through it.

In the atmosphere's borders, a violent trepidation almost knocked Silver Surfer out from his cosmic surfboard. The silvery being regained his balance awkwardly and aimed his cosmic awareness at Earth. Instantly he streaked towards America, hoping against hope being in time.

In Greenwich Village, New York, Stephen Strange levitated with his eyes tightly shut. Earth's Supreme Sorcerer was monitoring the events since Selene's death had stirred him from his dream. Curiously, there was no fear in his face. Only concern.

> > > >

Nathan stared with horror how his father kneeled in front of his mother and they burnt together, doused in fire.

He stepped forward when one hand touched warily his shoulder. He turned around to look in fearful green eyes.

"Nathan, don't go." Madelyne whispered meekly. "Don't you see the fire surrounding them? It'll kill you."

"As opposed to be sacrificed to demons in a ritual would combine Earth and Hell?" He retorted fiercely, and his words sliced through her like a spear. Madelyne actually took one step back and covered her mouth with one hand. Her breathing was strangled, her eyes tearful. "Maybe don't you give a damn if my father and Jean burn, but I'm not going to stand by and let them die again! So help me or stay out of my way!"

Straight after he stomped towards the bonfire. Brusquely he stopped halfway and stood eerily still.

Madelyne knew he wasn't in his physical body anymore. Distressed, she stared at the two persons prostrated within a growing pillar of crimson fire.

"I hate you, you know. She muttered. "I hate you for having come back. I hate you for not having ever allowed Scott found love with someone who loved him back. I hate you for having raised my son."

A tear rolled down her cheek and dripped on the grass.

"I hate you for what you took away me. I hate you for what you did me... And I hate you for what you force me to do."

She shut her eyes with a painful shudder and sailed towards the Astral Plane.

> > > >

"Emma... Emma..."

The insistent, impatient whisper echoing in her head brought around Emma. The woman stirred restlessly as her awareness returned and her eyelids fluttered open. Fiery light blinded her and she propped dizzily on her elbows as her memory tried to reconstruct what had happened. She remembered the mission, the mountain, Jean Grey going mad with fury and pain, and ravaging her physically and mentally...

And nothing more.

"Emma. Listen." The voice barked sourly again, and the White Queen realized the soil was quivering. Actually the air itself also shivered, like if an earthquake was breaking ground and sky in pieces. Breaking the planet in pieces.

A dark vision drifted in the air in front of her eyes and took human shape. Tessa's astral self glared down at her. "It was about time to you awake."

"What is happening?"

"Look for yourself."

Emma stood up towatch the blazing typhoon she had seen in her nightmares, growing, enlarging, expanding. Its root drilled the ground, its peak speared the sky, and flames forked in its top, taking gradually a raptor's terrifying shape. Shockwaves burst from it in ripples spread throughout the land, shaking it violently.

"Oh, shit." Emma choked out.

"What you said." Tessa stated coldly. "I estimate we have one minute left to evacuate Earth and five more to get away from solar system. But very soon there shall not be universe left to flee... unless you help Jean."

"ME?" Emma bristled. Tessa felt her indignation, her anger inflaming; still she ignored it disdainfully.

A blizzard of sparkling embers flared of sudden in the air and coalesced in the orangish shape of a firebird. Emma winced unwillingly. Fire and heat... scared her.

Rachel Summers' bodiless voice reverberated through the atmosphere. "Honor. Altruism. Self-preservation. They give motives to help people. Out of ethic, out of selflessness or selfishness. From you I'd expect the later rather the first one, but truthfully I don't care what your reason is as long as you help."

Emma was about of retorting when the dark air vibrated and shimmered again, and a butterfly-like purple flare flickered. The White Queen gasped in shocked recognition. "You? It can't be! You're dead!"

"Yes, I get that a lot" The butterfly quivered, like if it was laughing. "It's a quite long story which incidentally still I have to hear, but not now... because if we don't save the world, it will certainly be irrelevant."

Rachel nodded firmly and vanished. The three telepaths followed her towards the Astral Plane.

> > > >

Light. Heat. Fire.

Embers. Flames. Blazes.

Waves of radiant golden-ivory light swept over them, blinding them with its immaculate brightness. Slowly theirs eyes get used to the dazzling light and the heat wrapping them like a blanket, and made out the scenery where they had landed.

An unimaginably massive whirlpool of churning energy filled the Astral Plane, made from swirling colors and throbbing lights and slick shadows and searing heat and frosty cold. Its coils, tendrils of luminous flames, spiraled lazily around the vortex and spread throughout the realm, tearing and shredding its foundations. And floating in the twister's core was Jean Grey, naked and curled up, shivering like if she was in terrible, charring pain.

Betsy and her two partners gaped at the scenery and shuddered frightfully.

In front of them hovered Nathan alongside his sister, both standing in front of Madelyne. The three were perusing quietly and thoughtfully the vortex.

"It's worse than I believed. Her power is shattering the Plane." Emma wheezed out.

Tessa raised one eyebrow and stared quietly at the maelstrom of unleashed power. "Some suggestions?"

Betsy shrugged uncaringly. She wasn't really troubled. "In the old times we waited while a Summers thought of something."

Abruptly Cable and Marvel Girl turned at each other. "Are you thinking..."

"... What I'm thinking? It's barely possible." Rachel quipped. "It may work."

"It MUST work."

Psylocke rolled up her eyes and sighed. She should have betted money. "What is yours plan?"

Both siblings whirled around. Nathan displayed a grim frown but Rachel smiled self-assuredly. She eyed uneasily to Betsy, nonetheless.

"It's simple. Jean is dying why she's absorbing energy from the whole universe and it's more than she can handle now."

"So we cut off her endless energy supply and she'll be forced to use her own energy or tap in Earth's psychic atmosphere-"

"Therefore she shall only employ energy her body can assimilate and control. And it'll resolve another trouble, since she won't have to eat stars to keep theirs energy levels. It's brilliant." Tessa mused thoughtfully and frowned. "But is it possible?"

Rachel nodded firmly. "Sure. We just have to pour our powers in Nathan."

Emma's arched an eyebrow. She was feeling a curious deja vu. "Like in the Gathering of the Twelve?"

"NO." Nathan barked angrily, his eye flashing golden in the colorful atmosphere. "Better, hopefully."

Madelyne sighed, breaking her silence. "I suppose it's our best option, but I'm not sure of our combined power is enough..."

A deep, kind voice resounded. "Would you accept my assistence, then?"

Everyone's heads jerked around, searching for the owner. A large power was arriving, and the Astral Plane shifted and rippled harmoniously to receive it.

A glowing figure faded into being. His likeness wasn't very impressive -old, bald and lean- but power flowed in him like a serene storm. His telepathy was almost so formidable like Jean's or hers children, but it didn't collapse or frighten the Plane. His power comforted it. He was a part of that world, and obeyed its rules even though they bent to his will.

The Professor Xavier smiled at them kindly. "Shall we begin?"

Nathan nodded and stepped forward, towards Jean. There was no time to questions.

He spread his arms. His astral shape emitted an amber aura, and light welled from him. His shape glowed, submerged in a shapeless pool of liquid fire surrounded by rings of flames, shimmering like a newborn star whom brightness dulled Jean herself. The remainder telepaths gawked at the impressive display of power as they gathered and flung theirs own energies in the light.

The streams of telepathic energy flowed into the maelstrom. It gleamed and blazed with thousand different colors, like a crucible of light, and the streaks merged in a pool of hot, pure ivory.

Nathan quivered and shuddered, strained by the appalling, endless power flowed around and into him, a fire capable of extinguishing stars with one thought. He struggled for controlling it, for restraining it. Of sudden he felt like if he had stomped over a limit, and then there was nothing he couldn't manage.

He stretched his fists onwards. Ribbons of energy swirled around the power stream flooding Jean, strangling it like a tight slipknot. Then he raised one of his arms to eye level. Light wisps coiled and intertwined with each other and a razor-sharp, wicked-looking psimitar flashed in his fist, his curvy edge crackling with sparks.

Nathan lifted up his blade and traced swiftly a downward light arc, shooting a tiny glowing beam towards the spot where the energy's coils were suffocating the firestream.

The lightning bolt streaked through the space. Light sliced through light. And the world exploded.

> > > >

The astral plane shuddered and collapsed, whipped by an uncontrollable storm of power coursed through it.

A thundering explosion detonated in someplace of the realm and its shockwave swept through the mindscape, obliterating everything in its path until reaching the borders of the plane, beyond Earth.

Countless millions of blazes of red, orange and golden fire poured out in the cosmos.

> > > >

Pain. Weariness. Drowsiness. And also elation.

Those were the emotions Jean Grey felt as her consciousness returned sluggishly, along with the feeling of her throat clogged, her body tightly wrapped in soft fabric, her ears buzzing with a steady drum, her nostrils tingling with an acrid scent. The sensations were unpleasant. As well as comforting. If she felt the world surrounding her, if her senses were active, it meant she was alive. Alive.

She blinked weakly. Bright light and limitless whiteness hurt her eyes and she averted her face. Across the room she saw a snowy, blurry shape prone in one bed. Her husband, heavily sedated and asleep, with his body wrapped firmly in bandages, just like hers. And sitting between them, Jean made out a red and black shadow.

Oh, not. Not her.

The visitor contemplated her with a smug silence, like if she was finding the situation awfully funny. Still she wouldn't talk. Her eyes bored in her, like if she was spying her thoughts. Jean rose and reinforced her shields.

Finally she disrupted the silence. "It was about of you wake up. Your husband and you suffered third grade burns. Your bodies resembled smoking coals. Beast was working for hours to save you as the telepaths coached your souls to stay with us. We were frightened of you'd pass away or fall in a coma."

"We?" Jean quipped humorlessly. "Funny. I didn't think you cared."

"I don't. Does it matter?"

"No." Jean answered quietly. Madelyne tossed backwards her flaming strands nonchalantly.

"I was worried over NATHAN. He was so forlorn and upset, hovering and pacing around and brooding gloomily and pondering if you died it'd be HIS fault -I don't understand why, but after dealing with Scott I know better than trying and interfering in a Summers' self-flagellation-. And my son doesn't need or deserve another cause to grieve. I've given him too many, in fact."

Jean stared at her sadly. Madelyne arched her eyebrows, feeling curiosity. And at once thrill.

"What is that, Jean? Am I feeling grief of you? Sorrow? Mercy? A bit late to it, don't you believe, my sister? Since you stole all what I loved, all mattered to me, and left me alone with my hatred and my despair."

Jean narrowed to slits her eyes. Grief dwelling in them had faded, quickly replaced for smoldering anger.

"Oh, but you know now what is it like, don't you? You know now what is like being abandoned, being stolen, being unloved, don't you?"

Jean's hands grasped tightly the covers, ignoring the blistering sting on her skin. Madelyne missed it.

"Tell me, Jean: what was it like? Did it hurt a lot? Did it feel it like hell? I'm DYING for knowing. My entire life I've been waiting that you hurt like I hurt, you grieved like I grieved, and now you've done I'm so glad-"

A brutal telekinetic slap rocked abruptly her head backwards, almost knocking her over.

In front of her Jean was giving off an aura of orange fire. Her eyes flared with a murderer glow and her hair strands floated upwards, like blown by a wind.

Phoenix had punched her if she'd thought the satisfaction would make worth the ache in her knuckles.

"Shut up, Madelyne! Only shut up your fucking mouth before I fucking close it for you!" She grated. "I'm so SICK of listening to you wailing how much you have suffered, poor abused and abandoned thing, how evil I am, how much I stole from you, how I should have stayed dead and how much you hate me. Do you know what you stole from me? Do you know how much I hate you?"

A low rumble shook quietly the infirmary's walls. Madelyne just stared in dumb shock.

"I DIED, Madelyne. I fucking died and I crawled back from fucking Death because I needed Scott, I needed see him again, feel his love again. And then I found out he had already found a replacement: he only needed another redhead. And my friends and my lover loved you only because we have the same FACE!"

"I was alone. I had nothing, I had lost everything, and I wanted it back. But I couldn't have it because you STOLE it from ME. You occupied my place. You married my love. You bore the child should have been my son. And do you accuse me of thieving your life? You started it, Madelyne; I just got it back."

"And of course, I had to be fair, hadn't I? I had to be understanding and merciful. Poor Madelyne. She has suffered so much. It's my entire fault for not being dead. Bitch. Perhaps I should have gifted you my body too and altered Scott's memories so he forgot I'd existed ever." Jean paused, glaring balefully at Madelyne all along. "I hated you, yes. And I hated myself for it, since I knew, deep down, you were just a victim."

Jean looked away, and feeling more serene, lay back.

Madelyne kept quiet. Startlingly a smile curved and widened her lips. She clapped. "Go, sister. It was about time of seeing you snapping on someone."

"Go to Hell, witch. And let me sleep. In that order."

"Seriously" The woman inched forward, her stare suddenly harder and more piercing "you've denied always your dark side. You've behaved like a charming princess, incapable of committing wrong-"

Phoenix rolled sideways on her bed and glared back. Self-righteous bitch. "No. I DIDN'T. I can be angry, petty, stubborn and irrational; I know it and I've never tried hiding it." She growled. "That's another of your lies to fuel your self-pity and turn your misery and despair into spite and hatred. You aren't the Evil Twin, you chose being evil. Sinister and demons manipulated you and twisted you, and I'm truly sorry for it, but it was always your choice, evil has always been your choice, and you can only blame yourself for it. I knew darkness dwelt in me long before you rubbed it on my face. Simply I didn't want to give in it."

"You didn't? Not matter who was his first girlfriend, Scott was my husband until you came and called him back, ignoring me and his feelings like if they didn't care at all."

Jean sat up, her eyes glowing, choleric. Sizzling heat pervaded the room. "A LOT you know. Scott didn't leave you to get in my pants how you doubtless believe. He came to see if I was really alive, not to restart our relationship. After he traveled back to Alaska and I let him go. But you had disappeared for then. He believed Nathan and you had got murdered and he was moping for MONTHS, feeling guilty each time he peeked to me." Jean arched back her head and chuckled abruptly. "He didn't know you were too busy having adventures with the X-Men and fucking his own brother to be bothered in calling and tell: 'Honey, our son has been kidnapped'. Do you think seriously I'd stand by while you crushed him?"

Her interloper arched a thin red eyebrow. "But you walked away when that blonde witch messed around with him. Why did you act differently?"

Jean clutched fistfuls of the sheets, looking thoughtfully downwards. "How was I supposed to know? I thought that he needed her more than me. That he didn't love me anymore. And unlike OTHER people I wouldn't turn our bond in an iron chain to shackle him to me. So I set him free. How was I supposed to know he was being controlled?"

"Jean, you ARE telepath. You could have-"

"I could have, I could have. Hindsight is always perfect. In the moment..."

"- in the moment you respected his privacy, didn't want to read his mind or scan him deeply, and when you did, you were too furious to perform a thorough test. Am I right?"

Jean kept quiet. Slowly, mutely, hesitantly, she nodded.

"Tell me, Jean. What did you want to do that woman?"

Jean's jaws clenched. "Leave me alone, Madelyne."

The woman just grinned viciously. "Go on, sister. Tell me what you wanted to do her. Did you ever imagine them fucking? Yes, you did. You thought of that witch dressing with your robes, lying on your bed, fucking your man. You imagined her smiling victoriously when he hugged her naked body for first time, smirking gleefully when he filled her, grinning madly while she took his member and swallowed it whole. What did you want to do her, Jean? What do you wanted to do when your imagined her spreading her legs and begging being penetrated?"

Deadly silence pervaded the atmosphere.

"Leave me alone now that you can." Jean hissed.

"Come on, Jean. You know you can be hateful, jealous, twisted and temperamental. Let it out."

Jean stared hardly at Madelyne for a tense instant. "I wanted to kill her. I wanted to stake her and burn her like a witch. I wanted to rip her fucking head off and piss on it. I WANTED TO KILL HER. Glad now?"

Her venomous leer was replied by a smug nod. Jean wished to retort something, anything to hurt her, when drowsiness numbed her muscles. Her body collapsed softly on the bed as her eyesight blurred.

"What... is... happening...?" She stammered falteringly.

"You must have spent your last adrenaline in that outburst. Painkillers must be kicking again. Rest then. Don't worry; I shan't try to slit your throat as you sleep."

An acid rebuke formed in Jean's lips before she shut lazily her eyes. Very soon her chest was swelling and lowering steadily.

Madelyne contemplated her face. Peaceful and serene. For a second glimmered on her eyes a pang of regret. The former Black Queen shook her head and turned around towards the second bed.

"Cease your pretending. I know you're awake."

Scott Summers stirred beneath the silky sheets and leaned sideways to face her. His head was fully bandaged and his goggles shielded his eyes, but Madelyne knew he was looking to her. She didn't need observing the red flare flickering on the lenses to know it.

"Hi."

"Hi, Scott." Madelyne replied quietly. Sensing his awful awkwardness she pondered, ironically, that after so long she didn't know what telling him. "Don't worry. I'm not looking for revenge."

"You... You don't?"

"No. I got revenge from Selene some hours ago because the occasion presented itself, but... I don't want you and your second wife dead anymore."

Scott was uncertain of what thinking of it. "Why? Is it for Nathan?"

Her look sharpened abruptly and he cringed. "Partially. Mainly... I'm exhausted. When I lost the love I had, knowing I couldn't get it back, I turned to my hatred and my rage. And it was enough. More than enough. It gave sense to my life. Then, one day, Apocalypse killed you. Do you know what I felt then?"

He shook his head silently and waited.

"Nothing. Neither pleasure, nor joy, nor elation. Not even sorrow. I'd devoted my second life to my hate, and when its source disappeared... I felt hollow. Worn off my hatred, I had nothing. Then I understood I'd wasted my second chance in reopening and stabbing old wounds. I'm tired from hating you, Scott."

For a long while neither of them said anything.

"I never wanted to hurt you." He muttered hoarsely. "I loved you, Madelyne..."

His ex-wife's eyes widened. Then they narrowed suspiciously. She frowned, intuiting his thoughts. "But you weren't IN LOVE with me."

"No." He shook his head miserably. "I DID think I did. I convinced myself of I had got over Jean, that I loved you for yourself, not for your face and you were another person with different traits I loved too. And then, during the Asgardian Wars I saw Rachel dressed like Phoenix for first time..."

He shivered slightly, remembering the woman he didn't know was her daughter. Red hair cascading over her back like a flame, red and gold spandex wrapping her like living fire, the firebird's emblem rising its wings on the forefront. Jean's splitting image. "And my heart ached. Then I knew I hadn't got over Jean. That I'd never got over her. Still you'd got married with me and you weren't guilty of my pathetic troubles. The least I could make was hold my part of the bargain. Though I was living a lie, and it was tearing me apart..."

"You never were a convincing liar, Scott." Madelyne snorted, crossing her arms together over her chest and folding one leg above another. Her enraged grimace left her countenance, replaced by a thoughtful frown. "I've spent these last months dwelling in my past life. I blamed the X-Men, Jean and you for everything, including things I'd done to myself. I tried slaying Nathan after having accused you of abandoning him. I slept with your brother after accusing you of spurning me. I used the X-Men to further my goals and tried getting them killed when no longer they served me, right like Sinister. As much as I'd like starting to accuse you and accurse you only for the delight of seeing you flinching, you were another Sinister's tool in that mess. How can I know I didn't force you subconsciously to love me? In fact how do I know I loved you really? I was brought to life by a Jean's shard. Perhaps my love was nothing but her feelings carved in me, like her features and her memories. How do I know my love was real? How I know I am real?"

Scott regarded her quietly. Misery and despair were warping her expression, usually bereft of emotion except mockery or loathing. "I don't know what telling you, Maddie. Descartes said once: 'I think, therefore I am'. I don't know if it's some solace."

The former Goblin Queen barked out a bitter laugh.

"But you are alive. Isn't it enough? And while you're alive, you exist. You feel, love, hate, grieve, laugh, cry. As long as you're alive, you have something. Something to cling to, not matter what your origins or your past are. That... is a lesson I learnt harshly when I lived in the streets."

Madelyne regarded him silently for a long while. "I believe I better leave now." She rose, her black cloak flapping behind her, and she curled hesitantly a scarlet lock around one finger. "Sometimes I wish not having known you, Scott. Other times I wish not having been your wife but only your friend. But then I wouldn't be a mother. I suppose all action has good and bad consequences. It isn't a wonder your time-traveling children are so paranoiac about fixing the future."

She shook her head and sauntered towards the door. "Farewell, Scott. But if you want really proving me you're sincerely sorry, try and confront your troubles instead of running off."

She shut the door noiselessly.

Scott lay back in the bed, relishing on the fresh covers easing the ache slithering over his skin, and stared at Jean's direction.

Only the sound of two ragged breaths and two buzzing monitors disturbed the silence in the infirmary.

> > > >

-The title is taken, of course, from UXM 137.

-The appearance of more Marvel heroes can seem pointless since they didn't take part in the action, but I needed mention them AT LEAST. Mutants don't live in a vacuum.

-Emma's characterization was a trouble from the beginning. I wanted erasing Scott's blame in the affair, but I thought laying the whole blame in Emma and portraying her like an evil witch would oversimplify the story and qualify like character bashing. And I don't tolerate character bashing. It is offensive and a waste of time. So I thought it'd be better if she was a puppet all along. She'd manipulate him, but not of her own volition. I didn't intend to showing her like a nice person -I don't think she is-, but I didn't want depicting her like a total bh. Anyway her personality and motivations will be explored more deeply in the next chapter.

-I wanted writing a confrontation between Scott, Jean and Madelyne since I decided the Goblin Queen would be in my story. It can make a fantastic scene since there's so much rancor and regret, fury and guilty going from all sides. There's a very good story where Jean and Madelyne lash out at each other: 'Burn' by Poi Lass. It can be found in 'Fonts of Pryde and Wisdom' Archive. I recommend it.

-The great battle against Hellfire Club has left many aftereffects in the X-Men and many unresolved issues. Check the next chapter to fin out how the mutants cope with the changes.

To be continued...


	9. Part Nine Welcomes and Departures

> > > >

Firebird Rising

Author: Jenskott

Summary: Jean Grey is dead. Will Phoenix be able to rise from the ashes again? What will happen if she does it? My own version of the new 'Phoenix Endsong' series.

Notes: Wow! Thanks for all the fabulous feedback! Thanks to all: **Summers Groupie** -I hope you enjoy this chapter too-; **Phoenix83ad** -Thanks for your compliments and for explaining me what had happened to Maddie, and I agree with you about Emma-; **Eternitygoddess** -Thanks for the encouragement, when I started writing I thought I couldn't be possibly worse than some people. I'm glad of you like my story and you joined to the forum, and yes, I had another reviewer named Lili. I hope she keeps reading ; **Corpus** -I can't tell how much your flattery means to me. Thanks, really. And unfortunately my beta reader can't help me anymore to correct my texts. But I'll try going on improving -; **Wen1** -Of course, but she doesn't know when shutting up her mouth-; **Slickboy444** -I really appreciate your feedback. I wish Marvel had done anything like my tale (or some better tale) instead of going on torturing us with bad characterization and dumb plots-; **Amazing Redd Phoenix **–Here's the update! I hope you like!-; and **Pinkchick** -Yes, but have in mind the alternative was dying. I'm glad of Scott/Maddie/Jean scene was good. And I hope you like also this chapter -.

I reviewed this chapter very hurriedly to have it ready before my vacation, so I'm sure there'll be many mistakes. I'm sorry! I'll try making up for it in the next part!

Rating: PG.

Disclaimer: Marvel owns the books. Stan Lee and Jack Kirby are their true parents.

Feedback: To Please, I need reviews! English isn't my primary language, so I need much advice.

> > > >

Part Nine. Welcomes and Departures-

Shaky hands fastened hastily the seatbelt, clasping it with a hissing click, and clung to the seat with nervousness. The fingers gripped the cushion tightly, nearly shredding the brown upholstery.

"You haven't to be so frightened, you know."

"Yes, I have. You're driving."

Her look swiveled from the road to him. His heart got stuck in his throat.

"Scott Summers. If I hear another tale about 'Jean, the Terrible Driver'..."

"You aren't a terrible driver, Jean. You're a psychopath."

"Am I a psychopath? Who does turn upside down the Blackbird only for hearing his teammates' screams? Who does grin sadistically when he listens to Logan mumbling 'I want to go to my home'?"

"He's a wimp. If I crash the plane, he'll survive." Her husband huffed.

Jean sighed ruefully and looked back forward, feeling gloominess dissolving her indignation. "I want to do ANYTHING resembles normality for once, Slim. Is it too much to ask for?"

Scott gazed at her forlornly. Bandages covered still areas of her face and body, hiding hideous patches of blisters not fully healed. Her flaming hair had been cropped short and would take some time to grow back.

"Of course not, Jean. Of course not." He muttered quietly.

His hand drifted towards her hip to stroking it. Then it stopped. He couldn't comfort her. If he touched her wounded skin, he'd hurt her.

How ironic.

> > > >

A violent slam shook the hall's walls.

Robert Drake jerked his head upwards, startled by the sudden and loud noise, but barely he saw a white blur storming past him and disappearing hurriedly around the nearest corner.

He turned wonderingly to the door. Henry McCoy was in the threshold, shaking his head as he peered glumly at the corridor. Iceman was about of speaking when his piercing eyes stared seriously at him.

"I must announce, Robert, our esteemed headmistress has relinquished and passed down to me her headmaster's title before declaring her firm intention of leaving the school right away."

Sheer, shocked disbelief froze Iceman's expression for a second. Then it darkened. "What? Why?"

"That's what I told." Henry lowered his head. "I should talk her. I think she's committing a mistake. Transcendental decisions shouldn't be determined in an abrupt fit of irrational temper-"

Bobby shrugged. "Good riddance of that nuisance."

"Robert!"

"What? You know as well as me she overstayed her welcome. Have you forgotten, Blue Toes, the Fourth Rule of X-Men's Code? Hurt one of the Original Five and you will be hurt. She hurt TWO! And I'm not counting the time she helped Mastermind to mind-rape Jean... or the time she switched bodies with Ororo to destroy the team... or the time she kidnapped and enslaved the New Mutants... or the time she stole my body..."

"But-"

"But I don't want you're worried about it, so I'll talk to her."

Bobby dashed off, leaving Beast alone.

Hank McCoy stayed, motionless and speechless, in the hall, trying comprehending what had just happened.

> > > >

The blue car navigated slowly among the neighborhood's houses, swerving carefully around every bend as its driver studied the low houses looming around the roadway, the little gardens, the people walking. An unfathomable fear and angst and old pain, deeply etched in her psyche, widened her green eyes as she stared at the asphalt.

She was frightened of seeing a figure lying on the bloodstained concrete. A brunette child. With her body mangled and broken, her dress soiled with dirt and grease, her face swollen with bruises, her eyes staring vacantly at the redhead child who held her lifeless body. And the redhead child shivered with a deadly dread what was clutching her and suffocating her and killing her as darkness exploded in her mind and devoured her like a massive black beast-

A hand squeezed her shoulder, and she winced. It was hurtful. But also warmth and reassuring.

"Annie isn't here, Jean. She isn't here. Calm down."

Scott's soothing voice drew her back to reality, and Jean wheezed in and out deeply. Her agitation had nearly disappeared when she parked the car in front of an ice cream parlor.

Her husband read worriedly her face. "Are you sure of you can do this?"

She bit her lip. "No. But I must."

Without further word she got out of the car and observed the store.

Memories overflowed her and she shut her eyes. That store was her favorite place when she was a child. She walked in with her friends to eat ice cream and gossip and laugh when classes were over, and it was her shelter when she needed getting away from her parents or hiding from her sister. Annie and she could chat for endless hours about nothing, simply glad of each other's company.

But it'd happened in other lifetime; times of childhood, times of childish innocence. Before the accident...

Scott's arm circled her back and squeezed her left shoulder. "Calm down, Jean. You're strong. There's nothing you can't do. You've saved the universe, you've fought demons, you've defeated Death. You can do this. Trust me. "

She whirled around and hugged him tightly, burying her face on his chest, entangling her arms around his torso, leaning her weight on him. His body felt hot, so hot, and soft, and still he was firm and hard. Like a rock. He was her rock, her anchor, her firm ground where she could step and feel safe when the turmoil of her life threatened to drag her sanity.

Without him, she would be lost.

Without him, she was lost.

Jean lingered a time in that posture, basking in that warm closure, absorbing he courage he transmitted, the strength he gave. Reluctantly she stepped back and locked stares with him.

"Let's go". She whispered. Scott nodded and both walked in the shop.

They saw them in one of the tables. Two young red-haired kids, a boy and a girl, ate silently. The boy suddenly spotted them and waved his hand.

Scott Summers and Jean Grey exchanged an anxious glance and headed towards theirs nephew and niece.

> > > >

Billows of wind raced along the deep blue sky, blowing and swirling and dragging vaporous clouds, as the burning sun heated air and ground. Warmed by the intangible sunrays, Warren Worthington darted swiftly between shreds of clouds and glided peacefully amidst the currents of hot and cold air whipped his face and ruffled his feathers.

He was about of heading upwards when his keen eyesight spotted a lonely person on the ground below, contemplating his flight. He flinched. He'd dodged her since his awakening, unprepared to talk her, but he couldn't postpone forever the confrontation.

Not matter how appealing the thought was.

Folding completely his wings he dived downwards. His body plummeted down as a stone, but right before crashing into the floor, his wings spread fully and halted dead his fall with a simple, vigorous swing. His feet made no noise when they touched softly the soil.

"Warren."

He straightened up. "Betsy."

Both of them kept quiet. Waiting. Stalling.

Elisabeth observed Warren, for first time seeing him free from Apocalypse's taint. And she tried very hard not ogling to his bare and muscled torso rising with each inspiration, his silky skin gleaming with sweat, his taut muscles throbbing underneath it.

And feeling her heart racing inside her chest she averted her stare, trying not remembering how his sultry smile took her breathing away, how his laughter gave her butterflies, how his gentle touch inflamed her.

"You're pink now." She muttered, paradoxically using her aspect to steer her attention away it.

"Yes, I... it turns out I have a healing factor. Perhaps for that my true wings grew back a while ago. I'd bet Apocalypse know it and for that he grafted those damned steel wings to my back so quickly."

"That power saved you when the Crimson Dawn sucked your blood. Right?"

"Yes." He stated nonchalantly.

"You might have died."

He shrugged. "You're alive and fine. That's all matters."

The pale-skinned woman regarded him for a long moment as a soft breeze fluttered her violet strands. "Why did you break up with me, Warren?"

Warren's noncommittal expression faded, hardened by gloom seriousness. "Things... were getting complicated between us. And then you started getting along with Thunderbird. When you were together, when you laughed, when you talked... You acted how you used to do with me. I saw you eyes every time you were looking to him, and I couldn't recall the last time you looked to me with that... roguish joy. Then I knew you didn't love me anymore. I had no choice. I had to end it."

She gaped, aghast, and hugged herself, feeling an icy chill blowing over her skin, a stark contrast with the heated emotion she felt inwardly. "Me? God, Warren, I didn't love Neal! He was only a good friend! I fooled around with him just because you were losing interest in me! I wanted you paid me attention!"

"I wasn't losing interest in you!"

"Then why were you locked down in your office the whole time?"

"Because we were drifting apart and I couldn't deal with it!"

Silence settled around them.

"So..." Psylocke muttered hesitantly. "In a nutshell, you were avoiding me because you were afraid, I thought you were falling out love with me and flirted with Neal to get you jealousy, you got too jealousy, and broke up with me because you thought I didn't love you anymore."

He nodded dumbly. "It seems. Are you feeling as fool as me right now?"

Betsy brushed briefly his mind's surface. "Yes." Then she let out a bitter, humorless laugh and covered her face with her hands, nearly sobbing. "How could we be so stupid? How could we waste our time so foolishly? And how could we get more people entangled in this pitiful mess?"

"Right." Worthington whispered faintly as a blonde, youthful face floated in his mind. Though her expression drifted between smiling and pained, between innocent and scarred.

"You... are dating Sam's little sister." Betsy muttered, intending very strongly not sound judgmental at all.

Warren stared at her sharply, but her eyes were bleakly. He hadn't taken offense. "Yes. I was, at least. Several days ago we had a great fight and I haven't talked her since then. I'm frightened of it goes utterly awry. I don't want hurting her, but... I fear pain will be the outcome, not matter what I do. We get along well, but we haven't the kind of bond I had with..."

He trailed off.

Betsy didn't need hearing the rest. "Me."

He kept quiet. Fearful, Elisabeth bit her lower lip. "Do you love me yet?"

He opened his mouth. Then he closed it again. Finally he uttered something, but his faint words were muffled by the sound of boots sliding over muddy ground.

Both spun at once towards the noise's source. Warren let out a strangled exclamation and Betsy gasped, widening her eyes. How could she have missed her? What kind of shielding Emma had taught her?

Paige Guthrie was striding towards them, a silky sundress clinging loosely to her slender figure, her arms falling limply for her sides, her long golden hair strands scattered over her back and shoulders and framing an alarmingly pale face with an unreadable expression.

She stopped in front of Warren. Two sets of aqua eyes met. "You do it, right? Love her, I mean."

He said nothing. Nevertheless, his silence, his lips tightening, his pupils drifting away were enough answer.

"I guessed so. No, Warren, don't tell anything. You and I knew deep down we were liable to screwing up it sooner or later. Did you think we were 'For better, worse, richer, poorer, sickness, health, till death do us part'? No, right? Neither I did it, even though I didn't want to accept it." She kept talking relentlessly, trying covering with her voice the crack of her heart shattering. "Thanks, Warren. I never thought a handsome rich man would notice a farm girl like me. But you always told I was beautiful and smart and I could manage anything and I shouldn't permit anyone call me worthless. But I can't go on trying it when I know that you heart belongs to someone else. I... Goodbye, Warren."

Abruptly she stood on her tiptoes, leaned forward, draped her lean arms around his neck and kissed his lips with hardness born of grief. She lingered on that kiss before breaking it as abruptly as she had started it. In a fluid movement she spun around and walked away Warren, not wanting seeing his expression -of stunning, of regret, of caring even, but not of love- breaking her heart.

Like if it wasn't already broken.

She approached Betsy, who was staring at her with a mixture of astonishment and silent sorrow, and grasped her right hand. "If you love him, take care of him, please."

And then she ran out. Only running away them, never looking back. She sprinted harder, as her cold tears flooded her eyes and blurred the rows of trees around her.

Angel and Psylocke stared wordlessly at her figure running for a long and silent moment.

"Perhaps I should talk her."

Betsy shook her head. "Right now it'd be a very bad idea."

He lowered his eyes and sighed heavily. "I never wanted hurting her."

"I know."

He perused her face. Her pale-hued skin. Her soft cheeks. Her narrow and sparkling eyes. Her perky lips. Her indigo hair, including the annoying bangs fell stubbornly over her temples. She didn't look different at all, but he knew the signs. Her smile was bittersweet, her eyes dulled. Inwardly she wasn't the same woman. "What we do now?"

She shook her head. "I don't know, Warren. Do you want we get back together?"

Angel flinched noticeably and aimed a look skywards. Betsy couldn't decide if he looked for clarity, wisdom or a quick escape route. Then he spoke. "I'm frightened of shoving my foot into my mouth now I've opened it. Part of my... hoped it, sort of, but I didn't dare to wish it. It'd be unfair to you and to Paige. And we aren't the same people dated together. Things have changed so much..."

"Things are always changing, Warren!" Betsy cut in brusquely. Then her eyes widened, like if she had reached a sudden revelation. "Things are always changing. I was a butterfly but my eyes were blinded, my wings tattered. You were an angel but your wings were clipped, your soul sullied. We aren't the same persons broke up theirs relationship, but we aren't the same persons who fell in love either."

Sudden resolution inspiring her, she approached him and held determinedly, gently his hand. "We're perpetually changing. That's what mutation is, after all. We weren't Elisabeth Braddock and Warren Worthington when we started dating back then; we were two persons twisted and turned into razor weapons by the enemy, and perhaps it was what drew us at each other. Neither we were a ninja assassin and the Archangel of Death when we split up, because we'd lived through more changes. And neither we are those two persons nowadays. The past is gone, its last page written; it's time for starting another book. We can't make choices based upon the lives we led, upon our past successes and failures."

"So I suppose we have to follow our feelings and seeing where the road ends." Warren mumbled wishfully. "One step each day, walking slowly without getting worried about the bumps or forks we can find ahead, finding out by ourselves where we want arriving."

"Exactly." A perky smile curved the woman's lips. "Who cares for the past or the future? Let's live now. We shall define whatever our relationship is later."

Warren frowned thoughtfully. "But something hasn't changed in spite of everything, Betsy. Do you remember what I told you after our first date?"

Betsy nodded. He had repeated it time and again. When she was nearly disemboweled by Sabertooth, when she was possessed by the Crimson Dawn, when she was stripped from her telepathy because of Shadow King. "If you have lost your wings, I'll give you my own. I give you my wings. I give you the sky."

He nodded firmly. "Yes. It was true back then, it's true now and it'll be true always, not matter what." His arms circled her thin waist and drew her to him. Betsy whispered his name but he ignored her as he scooped her body up on his arms and clutched it against his chest. His snow-white, sailing wings unfolded around them and flapped furiously.

Betsy felt a rush of wind and speed blowing roughly her smooth face and shut her eyes.

And of sudden she was flying enveloped in bright blueness, the wonderful, wide and blue sky surrounding her everywhere. Wind stroked them and they rode on its wings, skimming over the clouds and beholding the sun, rapidly streaking across the free sky, miles above the gloom Earth.

She shouted in release, in fun, in rapture. Delight bubbled within her, the greatest joy she had felt in a long time. Her arms wrapped around his neck and she leaned her head on his chest. She could feel the taut muscles, the heart beating violently and pumping blood beneath them, the powerful lungs swelling and deflating quickly.

Despite the frosty wind blowing around, the day seemed warmer.

> > > >

"... And while we lay in the infirmary, SHIELD passed by, fetched the Inner Lords and dumped them in the Vault." Jean Grey concluded, staring fixedly at her nephew and niece. She exhaled a gust of hot breath in relief. Narrate the story had been tough, but she got it at last off her chest. And God, she felt eased.

Her sister's children remained very quiet, though. Joseph gazed back quietly, barely displaying anything more than deep sorrow in his eyes. Her sister fiddled unceasingly with her half-eaten and half-thawed ice cream, her head lowered and her red curls darkening her emotionless face.

Jean felt anxiety, dread, ache clutching her heart. A gentle hand clasped hers, and she felt Scott lending her strength. She inspired deeply.

"Kids? Tell something... Please."

Joe looked away. "I don't know what telling... or thinking... or believing, Aunt Jean."

Jean nodded sadly and turned to her niece. "Gail?"

The redhead girl paused poking her food with the spoon. But she didn't look up. "Please, Aunt."

"Come on, Gail. If you feel some weight oppressing your chest, you shan't feel free until you get it off you."

Gail squeezed suddenly her spoon until her whitened knuckles twisted the metal, and she rose her head. Tears brimmed on her corners' eyes before sliding down her cheeks, and hurt ravaged her face. Jean gasped, having seen those features stricken by grief and rage countless times in a mirror and in the face of another young redhead.

"Why? Why does mom keep dead but you come back? You ALWAYS come back. Joe and me will never see again dad and mom, but you're always leaving us and after returning. Why?"

Jean shut firmly her eyes and wheezed in roughly. It hurt, but she expected that rejection. "I don't know, Gailyn. Don't you believe I've asked myself that question, night after night as darkness surrounded me? Why did my sister get killed before we could make up? Why did Annie, my best friend, pass away? Why did Scott's parents leave your uncle and his brother alone? Why are dead Changeling or Thunderbird or poor Dough Ramsey? Why does everyone remain dead, as I live again? Am I doomed to live and die endlessly as my loved ones and family and friends and every people I've ever known perish, in an infinite cycle until the end of the days when eternity begins again?"

"Like a matter of fact, no." Scott interrupted, deeply disturbed by her speech. "Your powers are cut down. You're still one of the more powerful psychics in the planet and probably you retain your potential, but I doubt you can use your full power again. Besides, you came back always for me. If I'm not alive-"

"Scott, please." She muttered with wariness. "The point is, children, I've seen dying too many people who deserved living and I've seen living too many people who deserved dying. Why? I don't know. I haven't got the answers. But I didn't want to talk you about this..."

Phoenix trailed uneasily. Joe frowned, feeling sudden, unexplainable apprehension. "What, then?"

Jean drummed warily her fingers on the board. "I hardly remember anything... from the another side. But someone gave me a message." She winced, watching sheer horror dripping from theirs faces and wondered how she could tell it. Sudden resolution settled on her, and Jean decided being blunt. "Sarah told me she and Paul love you. And they hope you grew happy."

Tense, terrifying silence ensued. Then Gail burst out in sudden tears. Her shuddering weeping resounded through the whole store. Joe embraced her, trying being supportive even though grief was choking him too.

Scott and Jean contemplated them with quiet sorrow, holding hands in silence as they sobbed.

> > > >

Expensive dresses fell in rapid succession on the quilt, covering the ones lay in disorder on the bed.

Emma wrenched theirs clothes violently from theirs racks and extricated them furiously from the drawers before tossing them over the sheets. Next she opened a suitcase and began to stuff hastily clothes in it, wrinkling them like dirty rags.

"So... you're running away."

She didn't bother in turning around to glare at her unwelcome visitor. "No."

"You told Hank you're quitting and leaving right away, and now you're packing your stuff. Of course you aren't running away." His voice ringed terribly ironical and amused, but she detected a hint of seriousness... and of concern. It was puzzling. "Why are you leaving?"

"What? Do you think Jean Grey and me can coexist civilly in the same state henceforth?"

"No. I think you don't care for Jeannie. Scratch that, I KNOW you don't care for her or her feelings. You've proved that point. Now tell me the real reason."

Emma grimaced and whirled around angrily. Robert Drake was in threshold, leaned leisurely on one of the jambs, utterly nonchalant to her display of rage.

"Why do you CARE?" She shouted, frustrated.

"Why do you care telling me or not?" He rebuked instantly, and Emma observed his demeanor. Grim. Angry. Controlled.

She recalled the adjectives she used to describe him. Pathetic little loser. Fool. Ineffectual clown. He didn't seem right now anything of it.

When Dark Phoenix blocked his power, she gave him back -subconsciously or not- his capability to control it. Flesh formed again his body, not solid bluish ice. But the time he had remained fully frozen had twisted him, like if his self had hardened as well, but it hadn't thawed. And now his behavior was cold and razor like a blade's edge. Like a jagged ice shard.

And Emma felt, to her shock, she didn't like the change. She missed the old Drake.

"Look, Drake, I don't wish staying here any longer. I can't bear seeing the X-Men's sidelong glances, wondering if I'm going to betray them again. I can't bear seeing the frightened faces of the children, knowing my actions put them in danger again. And above all I can't stand seeing... him ignoring my existence as Jean Grey hugs him delightfully!"

Bobby arched his eyebrows. "I thought you seduced Scott because Mastermind manipulated you."

"It isn't so simple, Robert. And you wouldn't understand it. You aren't a telepath, or a woman." She sighed, sitting down. Perhaps she really needed vent. "Scott draws female telepaths like a flame lures moths because we see what truly lies past that mask of coldness he uses to keep people away. He's a FLAME, you understand, a pure and soothing light, full with warm and purity."

She couldn't explain him what was Scott's mind like. It glowed in the Astral Plane like a torch, a blaze made from the brightest and purest light, a sun burnt passionately and shone gently at once. And in the core throbbed a blistering fire forged with unyielding bravery and untamable willpower. He kept his innocence, his principles sheathed in that core of strength, and he wouldn't allow anything or anybody bends it.

It was a challenge. And she loved a good challenge. She wanted that unblemished innocence. She craved for it. She wanted touching it and basking in it and marring it and making it hers.

"And you loved the challenge of corrupting that purity, didn't you?" Robert blurted brusquely, how if he was reading her mind, the hard planes of his face frowning as he glared mercilessly at her.

She glowered. "Do you want answers or not? It wasn't so simple. The thought of bringing him down delighted me, but... He lured me. I felt his righteousness could fill the emptiness I've felt my entire life. However I wouldn't have done anything beyond flirting for the joy of annoying Jean Grey if Jason..."

"Wasn't he supposed to be dead, anyway?"

"Oh, don't be stupid, Drake! It was another goddamned illusion! He isn't a real man but an illusion! A lie, a ghost, a blurry shade in the mist! He played with my mind without I noticed ever! He didn't force me to seduce Scott, simply used my lust for him and my resentment for Grey to remove my inhibitions and goad me to make what I really wanted. What he really wanted. That vermin didn't need much effort." She spat bitterly.

Bobby glared sharply, torn between pity and disgust. "What is your trouble anyway? Why do you hate Jean so badly?"

"Other that she's more powerful than me? Other that she's defeated me? Repeatedly and easily? Other that she has all what I yearn for, -respect, love, family- without struggling for it? Choose one." She rose angrily and headed towards the window, her skin shimmering and hardening as she walked. A cold armor to shield her emotions, to conceal her weakness. When she talked, her words were chilling like gusts of arctic frostbite. "Hence I don't intend to stay here to watch her reclaiming her prize."

A shiver coursed through her body and she was grateful for her blocked empathy. How could she explain her hurt seeing Scott and her look at each other like if nobody else existed in the world? Watching them kissing, embracing, holding hands like if nothing had happened? Sensing Scott's brain fully impervious to her? Knowing she had no prayer of tempting him now his mind was free? Realizing he'd grease the X-jet before he'd glance at her direction?

She hadn't talked to him since the battle. She had barely seen him since the battle. And when she found him, Jean Grey was entangled around him like a leech. And always he looked away and Grey shot her a leer capable to melt adamantium. Now they were back together, he wouldn't let anything came between them again. He wouldn't talk her, he wouldn't remain next to her, he wouldn't even ask if she was fine. He ignored her altogether. And she intuited he probably hoped she spite him. He preferred her loath to her love.

It hurt. It was a hurt ached. An ache burnt.

Just like Jean Grey had promised.

If she wished revenge, she had it in spades.

Iceman scrutinized her in thoughtful silence. Inwardly he was pondering his choices. Finally he made up his mind, and with a resigned expression, gave one step forward. "I'll be tagging along."

Emma stiffened and turned sideways. Bobby could see she was dumbfounded. "Beg your pardon? Why do you want to accompany me? And why would I wish your company?"

Iceman shrugged uncaringly. "I don't know. Maybe it's because you seem very depressed right now. Vulnerable, even. It's almost endearing." An obnoxious smile split his lips. Emma repressed an unmistakable urge for punching it. "And I have a knack for helping desperate women. They look to my face, think theirs lives aren't so pathetic after all, and then they leave me to find some game funnier than my feelings."

He sounded so bitter, she thought. And yet... "You only want one chance to fuck me."

"NO. Personally I'm sick enough from women, thanks you very much."

Liar, she thought. And yet...

Emotions were leaking from him, blending in a blurry jumble, and Emma tried sorting them out. She could feel calm rage and cold disdain. But also compassion. And repressed desire. He loathed her, but he wanted her as well. Nonetheless he wouldn't acknowledge consciously that lust. He didn't want feeling he was betraying Jean. He needed finding some excuse to love her without betraying his friend. In fact he willed blaming Mastermind for her actions.

She didn't want his company. She didn't want anybody's company. She didn't want taking off her mask and exhibiting her vulnerability, her weakness, her misery to someone. Including, especially, Robert Drake.

And yet...

And yet he wasn't worse than the average male. He was kind and nice, and his mind was transparent like glass. His face didn't resemble a house with the shutters raised and ugly darkness lurking beneath them. Or a light taken by someone else. Someone petty and revengeful and temperamental.

Yes, she could see definite advantages in being around a single man.

"Do like you wish, Robert. Nothing matters me much more."

She resumed her packing. Peacefully, this time.

> > > >

"Do you know what has happened them?"

Jean blinked. "What?"

Gail rubbed her temples tiredly. She felt exhaust but calm. Inwardly she felt thousand different emotions swirling, colliding and dueling angrily, but she was enough serene to control it. And to assuage one doubt.

"Grandad and grandmom. They're amnesic."

Jean gasped. Then she sat up brusquely, so brusquely the motion knocked down her chair. "What?"

"They've forgotten you are... were dead." Joseph muttered. His voice was neutral, artificially neutral, but there was a repressed emotion underlying. Doubt. A treacherous doubt he didn't dare to express. "It's like if someone had erased the last months and written another stuff. We realized one week ago, when they started to behave... normally."

"One week ago. We fought Hellfire Club then." Scott muttered, frowning. "You can't possibly think Jean-"

His wife didn't let him finish. "I don't know what has happened, but I'm going to find out NOW!"

She stood the chair up and plopped down onto it, simultaneously using a tendril of telepathic suggestion to erase her outburst from the patrons' minds. Then she focused.

Her mind left her body and soared like an invisible bird towards her former home, sensing her parents within. She skimmed briefly over their minds, careful of not harming them and found the alterations. A skillful construct of phony memories replacing the reality. The culprit had erased his tracks with thorough carefulness, but she recognized the psychic print. And the handicraft.

She had seen enough. Her soul filtered back in her flesh and she was again in the parlor. Trying masking her feelings of betrayal, she stared at her family.

"You were right, kids. Someone has altered theirs memories. And I know who has been. And when I catch him..."

> > > >

Genosha Island.

He smirked broadly. His ambush was set. His troops perfectly aligned in the battlefield. His foe was circled and would have no choice but surrender and accept his defeat. At last he had triumphed over...

The White Knight leapt three squares and tipped over the Black King. "Checkmate."

His smile froze and vanished. "Why you..."

Walls shook frightfully. Cracks fractured the plaster and dirt spilled from the ceiling. His despicable nemesis raised an eyebrow. "If you wrench the rafts from theirs moorings, the entire structure will collapse over our heads and our position will become quite unpleasant."

Erik Magnus Lensherr calmed down and sat back on the chair. "You aren't cheating telepathically, are you?"

Charles Xavier smiled. "It'd be downright immoral, don't you think? Seriously, Magnus. Doesn't take a telepath to defeat me in this game. Kitty has proved it. If you can't outplay me in chess, spare me from childish excuses. You know perfectly well I wouldn't use my telepathy to get an unjust advantage-"

"Indeed. You wouldn't use your telepathy to, I don't know, pass tests or win sport competitions..."

The Professor X blushed, chagrined. "It happened long ago. I was merely a child then."

"Talking about children... When do you estimate your prized disciple will request an audience with you?"

The Professor looked up, towards the roof, thoughtfully. "Three... Two... One."

CHARLES! WE HAVE TO TALK! NOW!

"Zero." He winced, reeling from the deafening mental shout. "I'll be back."

He shut his eyes and found himself into his own mind. The mindscape writhed and shook, flooded by a crimson light of anger, burning and bright and bristling. The light swirled and condensed in the center, shaping a flower-like pyre. And in its flames burnt a stormy, darkened figure. Jean.

"How. You. DARED." She spelled slowly and carefully every word as her bright eyes glowered furiously.

The Professor shook his head ruefully. "It was necessary, Jean. You... don't know what your death had done to your parents. They were broken after your demise. A new shock had unbalanced theirs mind fully. They could have gone crazy. They could have lost theirs capability to distinguish reality from fiction. They could have refused recognizing you. Don't you prefer sparing them from that pain?"

Perhaps he thought it'd calm her down. But a menacing bright golden filled her eyes, replacing the sparkling green, and the flames dousing her crackled angrily.

"Damn it, Professor, don't give me that fucking bullshit! No longer I am the child who never questioned your actions, eager for doing what you believed good, right or necessary! You can't expect now I accept without questioning your speeches about immoral use of powers when you're always stomping your own limits! Do you think I've forgotten how you erased the memories from a whole town to make them forgetting about the Sentinels? Or how you changed Warren's parents' memories so they forgot Magneto?"

"Don't you want ending the hurt, Jean? The suffering? Your parents aren't mourning you. The reason of their grief doesn't exist now. Why forcing them to remember it? It'd be unnecessary and cruel. They can live happy, without remembering that pain."

"But you remember it. You live with the remembrance and the knowledge of your actions. And me too."

Feeling abashed, the woman lowered her head. The Professor floated towards her, stretching one hand to reassure her, but she stepped back.

"Don't. Touch. Me! Christ, have you some idea of how hard is to love you? Do you remember the days my father drove me to the school when I was thirteen?"

The flames danced and swirled abruptly, changing colors and drawing shapes. Trees grew around them, forming a thick grove slashed by a meandering path. A rumbling noise echoed in the silent wood, and a car appeared, navigating along the road. The vehicle left behind the wood, crossed a lavish lawn and stopped in front of a large mansion. The car's door opened, and a young redhead kid leapt hurriedly out of the automobile. She hugged the man in wheelchair was waiting her, and both walked into the mansion. The kid spent the next hours learning how building mindshields and handling telepathy, trying levitating or moving objects without touching them, and studying in the library. Later the kid and the man sat together in the kitchen's table, he drinking tea and she munching greedily chocolate cookies or one orange, and both talked happily until her father returned.

Mentor and student watched the flow of images, feeling terrible homesickness.

"Do you remember?" She whispered. Grief-stricken, the Professor nodded.

"Well! Because remembrances is everything we have been left of a past will never return! If that memory was a framed picture, the glass would be shattered and the photo tattered and stained!" She shouted. True to her word, the image stood frozen and flames engulfed it. "I... idolized you in my mind. I suppose I was being stupid and unfair, worshipping you like a God incapable of committing wrong and placing upon you impossible expectations, but... I loved you so much like my own parents. However you've disappointed or betrayed so many times!"

She stopped, feeling grief strangling her throat, cracking her voice and moistening her eyes. Upset and shaken, she dried her tears. "I can't forget how you left me alone, with my uncontrollable power burning within me, when we believed Scott and the other X-Men were dead. I was hurt and inconsolable, and you left Earth with Lillandra."

"Please, Jean, be fair. I left because I was just so upset, hurt and torn like you. You left first without telling me one word, without letting me knowing what you needed me badly. You left me and I couldn't bear the loneliness..."

"I can't forget that Onslaught told me." She went on, relentless. The Professor looked away swiftly. "I felt horrified and cheated. I couldn't believe you felt like that. I never knew you felt like that. I remembered the confidences you trusted me with, how uncomfortable I felt keeping them from my friends despite my pride in being trustworthy, and I wondered how many other secrets you had kept from me. Sincerely, I didn't know back then if I could trust you."

The Professor lowered his head and cursed Onslaught.

"I can't forget Scott didn't want participating in The Gathering of the Twelve but returning to Alaska with me, but he yielded because you asked him... I can't forget the outcome of that decision..."

"Jean, if I'd got only a glimpse of that mess, I-"

"Had you left us alone?" She whipped her head upwards, her eyes flashing, furious. "You know perfectly well how his responsibility pushes Scott! I'm sick from seeing him killing himself to take care of your team, win your war and live up to your expectations! And I'm sick from seeing our teammates making fun from him- and me! Neither of them understands the burden we bear, neither of them sees the sacrifices we make, neither of them knows the responsibilities we take!"

"Jean" The Professor let out a weary sigh. "I assure you I understand it. And I regret having placed upon you that burden since yours childhood. But you have always been my best students. Nobody could have worked better or harder than you did. I couldn't rely on someone else."

"Yes? Perhaps it's past time Scott and me ponder over what WE wish for once. Perhaps it's past time we reevaluate our priorities and decide what comes first: the school, the dream or our marriage!"

"What are you planning?"

Jean's image flickered weakly. But before fading in the flames, her last words floated in Xavier's mind.

"And Professor... I've forgiven you the times you hurt me. But I haven't forgiven the times you hurt Scott. And I don't know if I can forgive you for my parents' sake."

An unnatural, chilling breeze snuffed out the fire, leaving Xavier enveloped in darkness. Abashed. Alone.

> > > >

Sun was sinking beyond the western treeline as the sky, dyed with the flares of a red dusk, darkened.

In the mansion's front door, Rachel Summers was draping her arms around her brother's neck, hugging his broad body.

"Do you really have to go?"

He shook his head. "I don't like the mansion. I don't like the X-Men. And Slymm is fine now, so there's no reason to me remain. Other than jamming my psimitar down that sanctimonious runt's butt-"

Rachel stifled one giggle. "But dad and mom can need you again. You whined back then about having not been here to control the damage-"

His burly hands clasped lightly her shoulders. "For that I'm leaving you in charge. Watch them over. If you need my help, call me. If you believe you can need my help, call me. If you aren't sure... call me anyway."

Rachel raised one red brow. "Oh, so you want talking to me only if there's some trouble?"

Her brother stuttered. "I'm sorry. I don't want to imply..."

"I'm joking, dim-wit. I know you didn't mean it." She laughed mirthfully, before pecking softly his cheek. "Summers use to put both feet in our mouths during conversations. Especially the male side."

He laughed. "G'journey, sister."

"G'journey, Nathan."

His shape dissolved in golden and shimmering light, mingling with the sunset's glow. When the luminescence died away, Nathan had vanished.

> > > >

-References: Emma helped Mastermind to enslave Jean in Dark Phoenix Saga (Uncanny X-Men 129-137), swapped bodies with Storm in UXM 151, kidnapped the New Mutants in UXM 180 -she kidnapped Kitty and Dough in that issue, but I didn't buy The New Mutants so I can't give another reference- and possessed Bobby's body in UXM 314; Emma used those insults with Bobby in UXM 318; I don't remember when the Professor wiped the minds of a whole town during a bout with the Sentinels -and I'm too lazy to check my issues- but I suppose it happened in UXM 14-16; Xavier erased Angel's parents' minds in UXM 18; Onslaught revealed Jean the Professor loved her like a woman in XM 53; 'G'journey' is the traditional farewell in Askani idiom.

-As far as I know, Warren's sentence is my invention. But it was a nice touch, wasn't it? .

-I hope not having written Bobby out of character, but I've heard he's lost his prankster attitude -shame. SHAME!- and he's quite foul-tempered now.

-Jean's attitude during her chat with the Professor is due to my view of their relationship. I think she loves him like a daughter, but she's felt let down many times for him (you can consult X-Factor 29, X-Men 53 and 54, and Uncanny X-Men 378 to understand where I'm coming from). And given her flaring temper, she's liable to explode some time.

-Professor's actions can seem OOC, but how I've said, I have a precedent –Warren's parents-. He's a very straightforward and moral man, but he shows little compunction if he needs protecting his students. For example, he shut down Magneto's mind when he nearly killed Wolverine. Besides, I needed making that to tie a loose end –Jean's family and theirs reactions-. I'm sorry it's very forceful or little believable.

-In the next chapter I tie a final loose end. Remain in tune for the LAST part of Firebird Rising.

To be continued...


	10. Part Ten Ashes To Life

> > > >

Firebird Rising

Author: Jenskott

Summary: Jean Grey is dead. Will Phoenix be able to rise from the ashes again? What will happen if she does it? My own version of the new 'Phoenix Endsong' series.

Notes: Again, thanks to my loyal reviewers by theirs comments: **Phoenix83ad** (Thanks for accompanying me along the whole ride. I'm glad of the scenes were good. I'd also liked having brought more closure between Bobby, and Emma, but I thought I'd take longer. Emma has hurt his two old friends and he can't overlook it easily); **Wen1** (Jean had her powers cut because this story is supposed to be the final Phoenix story, like Endsong was supposed to be; she retains the codename, the cool outfit and pyrokinesis, but not cosmic powers, even though she keeps being one of the mightiest psychics ever; and eventually her hair will grew back); **Summers Groupie** (Here's the end; I hope you like it); **Amazing Redd Phoenix** (If you actually felt sorry for her, it means I succeeded in portraying a character that I dislike deeply… even if I've tortured and tormented her, and I've enjoyed doing it. All good things must come to an end, but… you can always ask for a sequel).

The chapter's title was suggested by a friend of mine (in fact it was a suggestion to name the series, but I had already made up my idea). Thanks, Slickboy! And I'll post an unedited version of this chapter in (I suspect the editing system will mess the address, so you have the link in my profile).

Rating: PG.

Disclaimer: Marvel owns the books. Stan Lee and Jack Kirby are their true parents.

Feedback: To Please, I need reviews! English isn't my primary language, so I need much advice.

> > > >

Part Ten. Ashes to Life-

Massive trees lifted theirs broad and rough maroon trunks towards the sky. Entangled and entwined, theirs gnarled branches of dark hues formed the skeleton of a green canopy the wide leaves wove. Beneath that verdant dome, the oaks and birches grew lightly apart, forming a little glade, a patch of fresh ground strewn with slabs of polished stone and carpeted with dried leaves and bright moss. Iridescent lichens sprouted among the roots and fungus grew below the reddish foliage.

Light, tepid wind blew past the oaks, bringing the sound of forest animals, of mammals scurrying around in the underbrush, of birds trilling, of water streaming far away. Then the noise of footsteps blended with the remainder noises, and the grove fell silent.

Sidestepping the tall trees and dodging the cobwebs wove the hawthorns, Scott and Jean trod on the shaded clearing. Both of them bore backpacks and wore baggy pants and trekking boots, but Scott dressed a sweater whereas Jean donned a light sleeveless shirt.

She never was cold.

Lifting her chin up and spreading her arms, Jean inspired deeply and purred. "Mmmmm. The fresh scent of wood and grass and ground feels like-"

"The Hell." Scott muttered somberly. "Give me concrete and pollution any day of the week."

Jean smacked his neck's nape. "Shut UP, darling. We're camping in the mansion's grounds, not journeying through Brazil. Don't spoil the moment."

"But Jeaaaan" He whined, tilting his head in a deliberately infuriating way. "If I don't spoil the moment... who will do it? And I'd NEVER mistake this forest with Amazonian jungle. This place has actually trees."

Jean giggled. Contrary to popular opinion, her husband had a humor sense. A very dry and biting one. And she'd missed it. "Let's set up the tent. It's lunch time and I'm starving."

> > > >

A while after a brown tent was erected among the round boulders and both spouses were kneeled on a tablecloth, among forks and plates and glasses of plastic, finishing the last remains of the potato omelet Jean had cooked -Mrs. Summers had evicted her husband from the kitchen after he had managed successfully burning water-. Around them the birds had restarted their songs.

"It's tranquil here." Jean uttered fondly, her hand combing her shoulder-length red locks. Absent-mindedly she recalled why they were short. And she flinched. "I can't remember the last time we felt such peace."

"Alaska." Scott mumbled wistfully between munches. "Before the Professor called us to attend Joseph's funeral."

"I suppose it helps" his wife stated sadly as she sipped a swallow of water "we have barely talked with someone these days, hence we haven't found out of whatever the last menace is. The last gossip I've heard is Warren and Betsy have flown to England to visit her brother, and Hank is now Headmaster. It's like if we're dodging them. Perhaps we don't want to know."

"You know what the last menace is" He sneered sarcastically. "Another spandex-clad nutcase wants ruling the world for some obscure whim, another idiot group of idiot bigots wants to exterminate mutants or humans... Megalomaniac, racists, revenge-thirsty loons... Everywhere hurting, enslaving, slaughtering people not matter what efforts we do. And it NEVER stops. It only... gets worse. I... I'm so sick from it..."

His voice darkened and waned as he spoke, until going wholly quiet. His wife took a napkin, wiped clean his mouth's rim and laid the crumpled cloth piece back on the mantle. She clasped together her hands and waited.

"Maybe you're right." He mumbled sullenly. "Perhaps we don't want to know. Perhaps we're dodging our friends to hide us from the troubles. Or perhaps... I'm not feeling how talking to someone else right now."

Scott put aside his plate, no longer feeling appetite, and gripped her soft hands. His redhead wife acknowledged that grim expression and listened attentively. "You know the orphanage and the streets taught me harsh lessons: Don't trust anybody. Don't care for anybody. All you love will leave you behind. That's what I learnt, and although the Professor and the guys told me otherwise I'm not sure yet of being wrong. My mother died and my father spends his time traveling across the universe. My brother has tried killing me, and my children can't be bothered in looking or talking to me, unless I'm apparently deceased. And my few friends always need I fit into a role. Truthfully, the only person I've ever needed... is you."

Hotness reddened Jean's cheeks. His hands slid up her arms, clasping her shoulders softly. Her breath turned rougher. "Scott... I... But you had stopped being so introvert and loner long ago."

Scott blinked behind his shades. She was right. He was raised to be quiet and moody, but he wasn't so shy since his adolescence.

He recalled an incident had happened many months ago, when Cassandra Nova had been defeated and the Professor reopened the school. The whole teacher staff was supposed to have a group photo taken, but he refused flatly. Later he'd wondered because he had felt so scared and reluctant. It was a simple snapshot. Crowds didn't frighten him since he was seventeen. Why hadn't he wanted to participate?

Maybe because someone was trying insolating him from everybody, Scott pondered ruefully. He considered smacking himself. There and then he should have understood something was seriously wrong in his head, and it wasn't only Apocalypse.

Heavy gloominess settled around him. And then two warm hands rested gently on his cheeks, hauling him out of the abyss of his misery. His face rose up to meet emerald eyes, glittering with moistness.

"Scott, stop it." Jean commanded, her voice oozing deep emotion. "You couldn't have known. SHE made sure the thought, the doubt, the suspicion, never crossed your mind. Literally. You aren't responsible for it. Hell, not even that hoe is responsible if that bastard was manipulating her..."

"But-"

"Scott, I don't blame you." She uttered. "Don't blame yourself."

"I can't help it!" He shouted. "I brood endlessly over everything, dwelling on what I could or should have done, and I can't think it isn't my guilt or my responsibility or my sin so I must forget it! We can't forget it and pretend it never happened, because it happened! I can't permit something like that happens again! I... I only want proving you can trust me how you tried always proving me I could trust you. I... I just want finding one way."

Feeling miserable, he kissed her. Something sparked between both and the tender kiss evolved in anxious lips' merge. Reluctantly they parted theirs mouths, glistening with moistness, and Scott could see the fierce emotion shone in his wife's eyes.

Jean exhaled a steamy gust of breath, sensing his emotions rekindling old embers in her. "Take me." She whispered huskily. "Please, take me now. I need to feel your love."

Scott nodded, overflowed by a hunger had nothing to do with food, and laid her back over the cloth. Yanking her shirt off, he kissed her as his hands fumbled with the bra's clasp.

He vowed not letting that something came between them ever again.

She vowed not letting him alone ever again.

> > > >

The air was humid and biting, licking her skin with waves of unpleasant coldness, but she didn't notice it. Inwardly she burnt. With a blissfully searing hotness.

Worn off the desire and the need had driven them like a drug, a drowsy languor numbed their minds and muscles. Jean was lying facedown, supporting her head on her folded arms, and Scott was sprawled over her, massaging her sore shoulder plates. She moaned softly.

God, it had been really a while, she reflected.

Scott cuddled her lovingly while his wanderer eyes marveled with the blue of the sky, the green of the leaves, the maroon of the trees, the brown and grey of the ground and the rocks, the pale rose of her skin. God, he couldn't believe it yet. She had slid into his mind and her telepathy had turned off his optic beams. His power was locked. For first time in years he could simply open his eyes without fear.

Nobody could understand that relief.

Nobody could understand thatelation.

Nobody could understand thejoy of recovering something everybody takes for granted.

As his skillful fingers worked his magic on her muscles, his mouth kissed her neck's nape, following the curve of her cervix. Next to her earlobe he whispered "I'd forgotten how wonderfully good you are. Thanks for showing me my folly."

"Don't talk about it now. My mood is too good. Your backrubs are as amazing as ever." Phoenix drawled, picking tiny specks from dirt of the wrinkled linen. "So who is better in the bed? Emma or me?"

"Jean!"

"What? It's a fair question."

Scott bit his lower lip in chagrin. He just knew she was smirking. "You. Glad now?"

"Not at all. I should have bet money." Jean clicked her fingers in annoy. Scott rolled up his eyes and went on kneading her muscles as she traced lazy circles on the mantle. "But you've just given me a pretty gift. This is the first time you've been completely open with me. You lowered fully your shields and allowed me peek into. You let me see everything you never wanted sharing, too afraid of rejection. Thanks."

"And you didn't it? You've given back my eyes, my sight. I can't even start to describe you how much I love you." He pressed his lips on her collarbone. "I... thought I had to trust you -completely- so you could trust me. I've always been too frightened and insecure to open myself to anyone, including you. I didn't want recalling Sinister's orphanage or talking about my life in the streets, and I was afraid of you wouldn't understand. But if my fear can be used like a crowbar to pry us apart... I don't want it. I don't want keeping frightened."

"Neither I do it." Jean muttered quietly. She shut her eyes and hummed pleasantly as he squeezed the knots in her tight muscles and undid them. Then she felt his hands roaming downwards, circling her sides and rubbing tenderly her smooth, flat belly. Sensing his blossoming arousal, she chuckled. "Do you want doing it AGAIN? So soon?"

"It isn't my fault you are so sexy and gorgeous. But your months of unwilling celibate ARE my fault, and I have to atone for it. Right?" His forefinger poked her navel, tickling it ruthlessly, and she giggled. "But not, not so soon. Funny how-"

"Funny how romance novels use to forget some facts of human physiology. Like muscular soreness or physical exhaustion." Jean yawned languidly and blew a red strand away her lips with a tiny gust of breath. "A lovemaking scene in a forest would be depicted like an idyllic and perfect moment. No writer mentions it can be uncomfortable and filthy and your back feels every pebble on the floor."

"But it was worth."

"Definitely."

"I wouldn't mind remaining here several days, away concerns, away grudges, away fights. Just eating, sleeping, talking and making love."

Her right hand brushed her short red strands idly as she pondered over it. The prospect brightened up her face with a wickedly wanton grin. "Why not? We have food, we aren't being expected in the mansion, and other people can perform our functions anyway. But Scott... You know we have to talk about it sooner or later. About... our lives. About the future."

"Yes. I know." He muttered flatly. Bearing a scowling expression, he sat on the mantle, crossing his legs in lotus position. His mood had darkened quickly.

Jean sat awkwardly onto his lap and leaned backwards, feeling his muscled arms embracing her waist. A soft rustling sound, like pieces of fabric rubbing together, came from the tent, and a folded blanket floated out of it. It levitated towards them, unfolded itself and wrapped tightly around theirs bare bodies.

Jean tucked up both with the beige cover as her husband stroked her and caressed like a potter molding clay. She arched her head backwards and groaned, just incapable of moving, as he touched her body in ways just could know someone who had been doing it for nearly three decades -counting their honeymoon-.

"So... What do we do now? Because our options are staying or fleeing, not matter what happens." She muttered, closing her eyes and dozing in contentment.

Scott paused for a thoughtful second. "I don't know. All of this happened because many things in my life had been going wrong for years. Seeds planted into me, like my inability to trust people, awaiting a rain to germinate. Apocalypse stripped me from my self-deluding lies and showed me the ugly reality. Unluckily I drew the wrong conclusions. And I mistook many of his thoughts for mine own, too."

He shook his head in despaired irony. "He showed me I'd been for so long trying being the hero and role-model the Professor needed, that I didn't know any more whether it was an act or not; whether Cyclops was my mask or my face. I've been fighting so many years I don't know make something else. And I'm worn off. I'm tired of bearing this burden, of feeling guilty for being tired, and of feeling angry for feeling guilty. I can't go on like this, committing the same mistakes that led me to this mess over and over. For that I tried overcoming my fears with you. And I'd like... I'd like leaving the X-Men but I'm frightened of being incapable. I'm nearly thirty and I've spent the half of my life playing superhero. I'm so entangled in it I don't know how abandoning it, how being a normal person. Battling wars is my only skill, and I'm not even good in it."

"Scott, you can't mean that." Jean swiveled her head at him. Her eyes irradiated deep alarm. "Don't you remember you worked in a radio station? And flying planes through Canada when you worked in your grandparents' company? You have a journalist degree and you're an experienced pilot. I have my degree on Psychology, I've been model and I can be a good teacher. We can leave and live in the real world if we want; simply, we don't dare."

He cradled her in silence, his chin resting on her shoulder. "True. You know I feel still a responsibility towards the Professor. In my experience, rich men didn't... fetch runaway orphans from the streets without ulterior motives. But he gave me food, home, scholarship and he tried being a father for me when nobody else wanted, and he acted out of generosity. Right, probably he hoped I'd be his first Xavier's Man, but still... So I can't help feeling I'm betraying him, wanting giving up and starting my own life."

"Scott... Do you truly think he'd feel betrayed because the famished kid he saved from the streets has healed and grown up? Do you believe he wishes you remain until our home becomes a jail and your job a noose tightening around your throat and strangling you slowly until every breath becomes an unbearable torture? Do you think so badly of him?"

Silence.

"I mean... I'm angry and resentful with him right now, but..."

Scott growled lightly. "I'm recalling that time I told him I wouldn't leave your side in the hospital to fly to Ireland and save the new X-Men as you weren't out of danger. Besides he and I knew I'd never be on time anyway! He went mad and even tried slapping me, calling me... which was the word... ungrateful cur."

"He was distraught and distressed those days, Scott. And let's think of it, maybe he was jealous of you were choosing me over him. I don't think he had told such things otherwise." She steepled her hands underneath the covers and paused, peering glumly at the sunrays dancing over the green leaves. "I know you've felt cheated for him many times. When he let you believe he was dead -and I know perfectly well you were crossed with me for knowing it and not telling you, but never you said anything and forgave me knowing I had no choice-, when he put Magneto in charge of the school, when he spawned Onslaught... I've often felt deeply hurt, like you, but I love him still like a father, like you. And a father can't regret his children have grown up or resent they become emancipated. Don't you think? Besides, he's retired himself. Thus how can he begrudge we take the same decision?"

Silently he tucked a red strand around her ear. His tongue licked playfully the curvy earlobe. "Do you remember what you told me when you proposed, Jean?"

"This is our life, Scott. We belong here." She replied seriously. "I didn't want committing the same dumb mistake that mare- forgive me, your first wife did, forcing you to choose between two obligations and making you feel guilty for neglecting both."

"Yes, but..." He muttered wearily, his breath ruffling her flaming strands. "You also were wrong then. You shouldn't allow me indulge in self-destructive behavior. The X-Men can be part of our life but they CAN'T be our life, because if the team fails, we fall apart."

Jean mulled over his words mutely. Far away, a jay chirped among the foliage. Near from them a green-scaled lizard slithered among red toadstools. And the thicket rustled with the swift sprint of a fox.

"Perhaps that is the answer. We can stay for some days, observing how the group is coping with the last changes, and helping if they need. And then, if we aren't comfortable with it, if we aren't happy, if we feel we belong here no longer... Then we leave. Without putting off it due to the next crisis, without acting like if they were poor souls incapable to survive without us. We leave. Without ands, ifs or buts."

Her husband didn't reply right away. "I'm still fearing we make the same mistake again at the end; stay because we don't know another life, instead of the right reasons. And the team, the school will worsen our troubles... again. We could barely see at each other because the classes and the missions. We couldn't even talk about our troubles because we were too busy-"

"That is bullshit and you know it", answered his wife with steely fierceness. She turned her head to glare to him. "We were using the classes to avoid at each other, not the other way around. We had found time if we had wanted. But we didn't want. We were too busy dashing towards a cliff and leaping headfirst in the abyss."

Scott lowered his head.

"If it gets worse -and you KNOW it always gets worse-, we go out of here. I hate giving up, but... I'm sick of being the main support of the entire team... and I imagine it can't be easy to you either."

"As long as I'm your support, only, I have no complains. I'm your wife, console you when you're grieving, cheer you when you're brooding and shout you when you're being stupid is my job. But I can't aid everybody, or resolve everybody's problems. I have a family takes priority over everything else."

She ensconced sideways on his lap. Her hand caressed his cheek as her green pupils bored in his eyes. Intense, mesmerizing eyes of deep blue color. She gawked, breathlessly enthralled in the emotions glowed and sparkled in them, emotions concealed from her because those damned red-quartz shades.

"Don't worry. If we stay, it'll be under our conditions. We shan't sacrifice our happiness anymore. We have to think of ourselves and our baby."

He blinked. "Our... baby..."

She nodded matter-of-factly. "Yes, our baby."

Scott gulped hard. "B-b-b-but when..."

"If you don't get me pregnant in our vacation, I'm asking Hank about in vitro fertilization. I want CHILDREN before being thirty, damn it."

"B-but I'd be a terrible father-"

His wife shot him a smoldering glare. Scott believed melting. Then she spoke, her voice dry like dead leaves. "Oh, right. I forgot you assume your fatherhood skills are awful, basing on the terrible lives your children have led. The fact of they were happy until the fourteen years and you had NO control about what happened afterwards don't deter you. Neither the fact of you didn't raise Rachel. Oh, no, obviously that means you have been a pathetic, lousy father in every timeline. It's funny how you can simultaneously consider you aren't responsible of your daughter's happiness but you are guilty of her misery. I envy your selective reasoning... Darling!"

Scott winced, watching in her pupils her temper rising, shimmering and flaring. "It's only that... They deserved a better life. That was their right, and my duty was providing it. And I failed."

Her finger traced a path from his right temple to his chin. And he knew she was no longer angry but caring. And mournful. "Scott, listen to me: a man who has repeatedly risked life and limb -and soul!- for his children, can't truthfully tell he hasn't sacrificed everything for them. It's true they've led hard lives, but you can't blame yourself for it, unless you have mastery about the multiverse and the timestream. Actually, if they have survived through horrific experiences... Who do you believe is responsible? Who do you believe taught them to never give up, to fight tooth and nail, to cling to life, to maintain love and hope in ages where people only remembered hate and war? Who do you believe instilled into them that strength, that spirit, that courage, Scott? You gave them more you will never know!"

He lowered his head. "I wish it had been more."

"Everything you were capable, darling, even when it was another you." She stated seriously, draping her arms around his upper waist. "You're a fine man and a good father. And if you can't do it alone, I'll help you... every step of the road, whether winding or straight. We're a team, aren't we?"

"Yes." He whispered, his lips brushing her hair, his hand clasping tightly hers and pressing it on his cheek. "I'd all but forgotten that."

"Bad movement. Together, we can stand anything. Apart... where would have we ended?"

"Oh, that is easy." A vicious, humorless smile brightened up his features. "I'd be an emotionless robot and you had cracked the planet in burst of rage."

"Yes. Together we can become... more human."

Her husband nodded. Both remained motionless, cuddling and stroking quietly at each other, enfolded by the blanket and warmed for the sunlight pierced the verdant foliage.

"I can't believe yet it is finally over."

"Tales aren't over until the charming prince kisses the princess and they faded to black to live happily after."

He placed his hand on her cheek and drew her face to his lips.

With that simple, sweet kiss, the Phoenix ended its final song.

> > > >

- I don't remember the issue where happened the photo's incident (New X-Men 12-ish, I think). A friend commented fans raved about Morrison depicting amazing characterization in one single scene when, in fact, he set Scott's personality back to early sixties. I quite agree with that interpretation, and besides it served me to prove further the brainwashing. It's amazing how my theory fits in with the original issues, isn't it?

- I've paid tribute to the famous 'Jean stops Scott's beams', scene, giving it my own twist. Given that we've seen telepaths freezing theirs enemies or blocking their powers, she uses her telepathy here. I don't see why Jean can't do that (I figure Marvel doesn't want, since Scott could actually being happier and we can't have that, can we?). Besides, Phoenix Endsong 2 pissed me off. Emma CAN'T stop his beams. She isn't powerful enough. Only Jean is capable. She did it in UXM 132 and 296 (so nobody can use Phoenix Force to contradict me).

- My guess is Scott and Jean met when they were over fifteen. Jean was twenty-four in Dark Phoenix Saga. Giving them several years more and adding the twelve years they spent in the future raising Nathan, I think nearly three decades is a fair estimate. Feel free to correct me if I'm wrong.

- Wow! I can't believe yet it's over! Since my friends in Jott Forum encouraged me to write my own version of PE, and I put off the stories I was already making, many months have passed. Months of writing, rewriting, plotting, correcting... It's been hard, but it's been worth. Really I think this is my best fic so far. And the wonderful reviews I've got made up for the effort.

- Thanks to you: Pinkchick, Angelechicka, Slickboy444, Alrischa, Ultimate X-Men Fan, Summers Groupie, Sailor Phoenix, Phoenix11, Foenixfyre, Illmantrim, Lil Jean, Queen Peacock, Griever, Phoenix83ad, Goblyn-Queen, Wen1, Tashafic, Roquetshipper, Lili, Granny Angel, Lavender Gaia, Ingrid, Strayphoenix, Eternitygoddess, Corpus and Amazing Redd Phoenix. I hadn't been able to pull it out without you. And thanks to the remainder Jott Forum's members and all who read my work but didn't review.

- There will be a sequel? I'm not sure. A sequel must be as good as the original story, at least, and right now I haven't good enough ideas. Besides, I've fulfilled all objectives I'd proposed: write the last Phoenix story -since this was a Phoenix Endsong version, and Marvel announced PE would be the last one-; bring Jean back; bring old Scott and his moral credibility back; and get them together again. In a nutshell I did all Marvel could have done... and didn't.

- However, it's possible I can think about new stories to develop further this universe. Maybe I can be blackmailed in writing more (especially if I have enough reviews). I have projects and ideas for future fanfics, comicverse and Evoverse, but right now I need resting. Anyway, if someone else wants writing something based on my work, I'll feel much honored -. Only warn me, please.

-This is your last chance! Don't left without reviewing! Please! I'd love hearing your comments and opinions!


End file.
